


The Enchantment

by iulia_linnea



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-23
Updated: 2012-10-23
Packaged: 2017-11-16 21:42:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 40,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/544133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iulia_linnea/pseuds/iulia_linnea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry finds herself enchanted and in need of correction that only Snape can provide.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written between 3 December 2005 and 26 February 2006, this fic involves an element of Girl!Harry Snarry. Gift art by [ak_alterego](http://ak-alterego.livejournal.com/profile).

Severus Snape was not a gentleman, so when Harry Potter showed up at his door and reported the astonishing intelligence that he was sans bollocks and in need of assistance—a claim rather more supported than not by the peaking pair of breasts Harry had half-hidden behind his crossed arms—Snape laughed.

"Sod you, you greasy prat," Hogwarts' current Defense Against the Dark Arts professor muttered, pushing past the retired Potions-master- _cum_ -double-agent- _cum_ -hero and entering Spinner's End. "Great—more books," the indignant instructor spat, looking around while Snape's door closed itself against the cold. "You'd best have one that will explain how to undo this . . . this disaster!"

Snape, who had been far from sober even before his guest's arrival, almost doubled over from the force of his laughter as Harry tossed back _her_ head in a decidedly furious, clearly impatient, intriguingly feminine gesture and accused, "This is your fault!" 

"Ho—how . . . is it . . . my fault?"

"Stop laughing at me, you great arse. It was your spell that caused this!"

"You . . . think . . . so?"

"I _know_ so. I gave Gordon the book myself. He was having difficulty in Potions, and I thought—"

"Ah," Snape replied, righting himself and wiping his eyes while he attempted to still his chuckling, "you kept . . . my old . . . textbook? How . . . how stupid of you."

"Are you going to fix me or not? I have _classes_ tomorrow!" Harry exclaimed, throwing out her arms in horrified emphasis of her condition.

Sweeping his eyes over Harry's altered body with an appreciative leer, the wizard stepped closer to the gesticulating witch and huskily suggested, "Call me Severus."

Harry stepped backward. "You're _not_ serious."

"Lucky for you, that," Snape replied slowly, "but I did intend the spell that has so charmingly affected you for your godfather. I'm rather pleased I never got around to casting it on him—you make a much better witch than he ever would have done."

"You miserable _bastard_."

"You poor, sadly misinformed _dear_ ," Snape mocked, leisurely pulling off his open frock coat and casting it aside as Harry spluttered in outrage before asking, "Tell me something."

"What?"

"Did you mean what you just said?" Snape asked, one hand rising to the buttons closest to his throat and unbuttoning them.

"Oh for—no, of _course_ not. I know you're not a bas—"

"I was not speaking of your _insult_ ," Snape interrupted, all traces of humor vanishing from his face as his gaze darkened.

Flushing under his scrutiny, Harry dropped her gaze to the Potions master's mouth, which seemed oddly . . . soft and kissable after his outburst. Horrified that she could think such a thing about Snape of all people, she looked up again—and found that the wizard's attention had wandered.

"I have _eyes_ , you know."

"And they're qui—quite enchanting," Snape almost slurred, pulling the tails of his shirt out of his trousers as he advanced on the increasingly aghast Harry.

"H—how much _have_ you been drinking?"

Continuing to enunciate his words carefully, Snape replied, "Not enough that I don't realize you haven't answered my question."

"You weren't particularly clear," Harry said, growing wary. "What do you want? To know, I mean?"

Snape smiled in an unmistakably predatory manner and toed off his shoes as Harry instinctively backed herself up into the door. "What I want," he told her, taking another step forward, "is to know whether or not you meant the compliment you just paid me."

"What compliment?"

"The one," Snape explained, raising a hand and grasping the lintel to loom over the young woman, "about my arse."

"That wasn't a compli—hey!" Harry exclaimed, as Snape began to card his fingers through her hair, "what do you think you're doing?"

"I'm giving you what you came here for," he said, leaning down to kiss her.

Utterly infuriated, Harry drew back a fist and then swung.

Snape caught it easily, sliding his hand over Harry's fist to her wrist with one hand and seizing her other wrist with his free hand to yank her arms above her head and pin her to the door.

"Let go of me!"

Leaning his full weight against Harry's diminutive, thrashing form and almost sighing into her ear, Snape drawled, "I. Think. Not."

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Why, I'm protecting myself, _Miss_ Potter," Snape teased. "You did," he continued, drawing his nose along Harry's neck in a caress that he was pleased to feel caused her to shudder, "just attack me without cause. I must say I'm surprised you go in for that sort of thing, but if you like it rough, who am I to—"

Abruptly, Harry stopped struggling and brought her knee up toward Snape' groin, but the man spun out of the way as if he had been expecting it, jerking her away from the door and propelling her toward the sofa. 

As she landed in an ungainly heap on her stomach, Snape moved toward her, chiding, "I'm afraid it may take you some time to grow used to having lost so much of your upper-body strength."

"Get . . . off . . . me," Harry ground out, as Snape covered her body with his own, gasping in mortified excitement as she felt the hard thick length of his prick press itself between her buttocks. 

"Thank you, indeed, Miss Potter," Snape purred, thrusting his hips into her.

"That . . . wasn't an . . . invitation," she insisted, moaning in spite of herself as Snape continued his gyrations, but bucking when she felt his hand travel up and under her body to squeeze one of her breasts.

"Wasn't it?" Snape asked, rolling one of Harry's hardened nipples gently between his fingers. "You _feel_ inviting."

Panicking—but more out of fear of her own arousal than Snape's—Harry writhed under his ministrations and whispered, "I . . . I told you to g—get off of me."

"You do play-act well. I'm impressed," Snape said, removing his hand from Harry's breast and sliding it down her body and into her trousers. Pushing his fingers past the elastic of her knickers, he chuckled again when they dipped into the wet heat he had known he would find there. 

Harry's breath caught and she stiffened.

"Very nice. You like that, don't you?" Snape asked, rolling his fingertips over Harry's clit in slow circles.

"Y—yes," she stammered, almost lost to the unfamiliar and intense sensations Snape was causing her to feel, but when he plunged two fingers inside of her, Harry remembered herself and yelled, "No! Don't!"

"Come now, Potter, you're not going to tell me that you're scared—or is it that you're not scared enough?" he inquired, his fingers suddenly twisting her clit. "I'm not much for that sort of sport, myself, but _anything_ for a lady."

Harry yelped and then protested, "I'm not a _lady_ ," losing her fight not to thrust against Snape' hand for more friction.

"Duly noted," he replied, leaning down to place a trail of bites up her neck.

Harry whimpered and went still. "Stop," she said. "Please stop."

Disappointed by the loss of the witch's movement, Snape taunted, "I don't think you want me to stop. You wouldn't have come here if you did. I know you came here for this—for _me_."

"I came here for your _help_. I need you to—oh!" she cried, as Snape thrust hard against her, "I want . . . ."

"I know what you want," Snape replied, before lapping at the bite marks he had just made on Harry's tender flesh, "and I . . . assure you . . . that . . . you shall . . . have it." 

"You—you're wrong! I don't want you to rape me!"

The ugliness of the word "rape" ripped through Snape' alcohol-saturated mind and did much to clear it. "You . . . you _are_ scared," he said, confusion plain in his tone.

"Hell yes, I'm scared—you're attacking me!"

Snape threw himself off of Harry at once, backing away from the sofa as she righted herself and drew her wand on him.

"There's no need for that, Potter. I . . . I misunderstood."

"You misunderstood?" Harry demanded, standing, albeit shakily. "In what world is it possible for you to have misunderstood?"

"In mine," Snape said muzzily, pointing to the two empty bottles of Scotch on a nearby side table.

" _Soberius_!" Harry cast, glaring at the wizard.

Snape closed his eyes in embarrassment. "Thank you for that."

"Oh, you're welcome, you under-sexed git," Harry spat, pocketing her wand and failing to notice how Snape flinched at her words. "I knew you were living like a hermit, but I had no idea you were as pathetic as this!"

It took all of Snape' self-control not to draw his own wand.

"Now then, are you going to help me, or am I going to have to make a report to the Aurors?"

"You do that and we'll _both_ be forced to testify under Veritaserum."

"Why should I care about that? _You're_ the one who—"

"Made you moan," Snape acidly pointed out, as he began to do up his buttons.

Harry jerked as if the wizard's words had burnt her. "God, I hate you."

"You liked my fingers well enough—I wasn't so intoxicated that I didn't realize _that_ —and however maladjusted you believe me to be, I'm not so socially inept that I have to enchant myself as an excuse to find companionship. _Accio frock coat_!"

"What?" Harry demanded, watching in dismay as Snape quickly dressed himself and not understanding her reaction. Ignoring it, she insisted, "You think I—I _told_ you, Gordon—"

Striding toward the dark pile of fabric that was his robes, Snape leaned down to seize it up. Putting his robes on, he said, "You don't seriously expect me to believe that you gave my old Potions text to a student, do you? Not when I know you're aware that it contains at least one dark spell?"

"I obscured the Sectum—"

"Oh. Dear. Gods. You _did_. You incompetent fool!"

"Stop insulting me and explain yourself."

"Potter," Snape said, forcing himself not to yell as he rounded on the witch, "the sex-change spell was in the textbook. You are obviously aware of that, as is this student of yours?"

"Ob—obviously," Harry replied, squaring her jaw but backing away.

"For the love of Merlin," Snape spat, thoroughly disgusted at Harry's lack of bottom, "I'm not going to press my attentions on you now that I understand they're unwelcome."

"Says the man who just tried to—"

"I did not try to _rape_ you, you stupid bo—girl! I thought that you understood the ramifications of the spell. Why _else_ would you have come to me?"

"Why . . . why did I come to you?"

Snape drew himself up in preparation of hurling another insult, but, in the face of Harry's obvious confusion, found that he could not. "You truly don't know, do you? You didn't even read the spell _after_ the . . . incident?"

"No," Harry replied, her tone heavy with chagrin. "I . . . I dismissed class, sent Gordon to Filch for trying to hex another student, and then came straight here."

"This happened during one of your _classes_? And your first thought was to—oh, sit down, do," Snape urged, turning to one of his shelves and pulling a book out of it before reaching into the empty space that had created and doing something that Harry could not see as she sank into the cushions.

Harry did hate Snape, and she was alarmed by what he had done—by how what he had done had made her feel—but, now that he was himself, she was almost . . . comfortable in his presence.

The shelf opened into a doorway, and the Potions master disappeared into it, returning in moments with a small blue phial.

"You recognize this, I take it?" Snape asked, offering it to Harry.

"Calming Draught?"

"Yes—a variant for the treatment of shock. I suggest you avail yourself of its properties."

Somewhat reluctantly, Harry accepted the phial, shivering as Snape' fingers brushed hers when she took it.

"You trust me," he said flatly.

"I _am_ an idiot."

Snape snorted. "That is one of the reasons why you came here."

"One?" Harry asked, drinking the potion.

Sighing, Snape sat down next to Harry on the sofa—far enough away from her that they were in no danger of touching—and replied, "I'm afraid you won't care for the other reason."

"Just tell me."

"As you wish," Snape replied, inclining his head while he collected his thoughts to search Harry's eyes.

She found that she had to lower them.

"Black, as you are well aware, delighted in tormenting me."

Harry looked up again, taking note of the studiously blank expression on the Potions master's face. Imbibing the potion had caused her to feel a rush of wooziness and general unconcern, yet she knew that Snape did not care to discuss his past and felt guilty to remember what she had learned of her godfather's behavior toward Snape.

"He was aware of my . . . tastes, and—"

"I don't understand."

Snape raised a hand to massage the bridge of his nose. "If I hadn't been there to see it, I would never have been able to believe that one so young as yourself could have destroyed the Dark Lord—but I had no idea you were still such an innocent."

"I just turned nineteen, you know."

"And you remain a virgin."

"What does that," Harry began to say, and then blushed at her near-admission before demanding, "I don't see how that's any of your business."

"Perhaps it isn't. I'm simply trying to decide how much to tell you."

"Just get on with it."

"By 'tastes', I mean that I like men as well as women, and that, among other things, Black found impossible to forgive in me."

"What business was it of his?"

"None, of course, but that did not stop him—and the rest of the 'Marauders'—from tormenting me in the most despicable of ways. A more homophobic group I never knew, despite—never mind."

"'Never mind', what?"

"How much _do_ you know about your godfather?"

"You mean, how much do I know about his . . . relationship with Remus? I uh, I kind of figured that out."

"Bully for you. It took Black years before he accepted his sexuality, and in the interim, he took out his frustrations on me. Just before the incident with Lupin, he came to me and . . . worked me up a bit, shall we say, only to spurn me."

Harry was shocked. "He . . . but . . . I didn't know."

"Had you spent more time in the Pensieve, you would have done," Snape said, his expression pained. "Whatever you may think of me, I am not a monster. I sought to hide the worst of my memories where your father and Black were concerned to spare you—but when I was younger, I admit that I thought of revenge."

"That's why you created the spell?"

"Indeed. One can only be called a 'sniveling little girl' so many times before one must act."

"But you didn't."

"No, I did not."

"Why not? I . . . I think I might have."

"No, Potter. I'm certain that _you_ would never have created a spell designed to alter another's sex and compel that person to have sex with the creator of said spell in order to reverse its effect."

Harry's eyes widened in horror. "You mean I'm going to have to shag _Gordon_ in order to get my bollocks back?"

Snape sighed. "You never listen."

"I do! You just said—"

"That you'd have to have sex with the _creator_ of the spell in order to reverse its effect."

"But . . . but _you're_ the creator of the spell."

"Yes, Potter. I believe we have established that fact."

"And you . . . you thought that I—you didn't believe me about Gordon—you thought that I cast it on myself because . . . ."

"You actually wanted me, yes. That is what I thought—more fool I."

"Why would you think that I—there has to be another way!" Harry exclaimed, rising from the sofa and beginning to pace.

"There _isn't_ ," Snape snapped, losing his patience. "I was meticulous in crafting that spell, so you must either remain as you are, or . . . or persuade me to sleep with you."

Harry stopped her pacing and turned to gape at Snape. "What do you mean, I have to 'persuade' you? You didn't seem to need persuading a moment ago!"

"That was before you made it plain how rebarbative you find me," Snape replied levelly, "and I don't like the idea of shagging someone who thinks of me as an 'under-sexed git', 'pathetic' as that might seem to you—I have my pride."

"You're joking, Snape."

"I assure you that I am _not_ , Miss Potter."

Harry stood still but for the clenching and unclenching of her fists and considered her predicament. It was bad. No, bad had been finding _himself_ suddenly in need of a brassiere. Worse had been finding herself responding ardently to Severus Snape as he had attacked her. But _worst_ , she knew, would be finding that she had succeeded in offending the only person who could help her become a him again.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have insulted you like I did. I was scared. Wouldn't you have been scared if you'd found yourself in my condition?"

Snape examined Harry's softened features and gracile shape for a long moment and then replied, "Your condition suits you."

Harry felt herself responding to the yearning in the wizard's tone, but shrugged off her reaction in anger at how strangely needful it made her feel and declared, "Damn it, be reasonable! I'm a _wizard_. I've been one all my life! You can't seriously mean to leave me like—"

"And you cannot expect me to bed an unwilling partner."

"But it's the only way to—"

"I've been many things in my life, but a rapist is not one of them. I _did_ frighten you before when you thought I would take you against your will, and I will not put myself in such a position again. You will remember, please, that I ceased my . . . activity the moment I understood that you did not welcome it."

"Yeah, I do—and thank you for that, but—"

"There is no 'but'. Your _own_ folly caused this situation. If you hadn't have given that completely inappropriate text to a student, you would not have found yourself thus," Snape told her, waving a hand in her general direction.

Harry knew that the wizard was right, yet she protested, "But it was _your_ spell."

"So it was, which is why I find myself disposed to be so accommodating. If you do not wish to remain a witch, you have only to do as I ask."

"What, exactly, are you asking?"

"I want you to persuade me that you desire my touch, Potter, desire it for its own sake and not because you must endure it in order to undo your enchantment."

"And that's your idea of being accommodating?" Harry complained. "You're asking a—I mean—I don't know if—wait! You said that the spell has a compulsion component, so there's no _way_ that I could honestly persuade you that I want you!"

Snape almost allowed himself to smile at Harry's misunderstanding of his semantics; the brat never listened, and it was amusing to note that Harry was explaining away his—no, her, he corrected himself—having responded sexually to him due to a "compulsion component." The naïveté that implied on Harry's part needed careful correction.

"You," he said, beginning to enjoy himself, "are Harry Potter, the hero of the Wizarding world and one who has demonstrated the ability to resist the pull of the Imperius curse on more than one occasion. If you cannot fight the effects of a mild compulsion charm, then who can? I assure you that I will accept your word—when you at last come to give it—that you desire me for my own sake."

Her shoulders slumping in defeat, Harry said, "I really do hate you, you know."

"Yes, which is why I'm certain you'll find the process of your persuasion most difficult, and I, most entertaining. How _will_ you begin? As you see," Snape continued, glancing about his untidy lounge and raising his arms to rest them on the back of the sofa, "I am quite free to be wooed at the moment."

"Who said anything about _wooing_?"

"I understand that it is more the thing for a wizard to woo a witch, but you did insist not long ago that you were not a lady. I am, however, behaving as a gentleman in allowing you to have your own way."

Harry worried her lower lip between her teeth and wondered how the hell the man could think such a thing as she forced herself, again, not to look at his mouth and then said, "Snape, I—"

"On second thought," Snape interrupted her, shifting restlessly, his hands splayed over his upper thighs, "the hour is late. Perhaps it would be better for you to begin your wooing of me tomorrow. Shall we say noon?"

The door opened behind her then, and suddenly Harry found herself on the outside of it in the cold, blustery air and wondering why she found it so difficult to walk away; she decided that it had to be because of the compulsion component of the enchantment.

Snape, on the other hand, made short work of removing his clothing and grasped his long-denied erection with a firm hand, stroking it rapidly while pondering how the hell he was going to craft an anti-spell to his enchantment.

For if the brat doesn't come to realize she has feelings for me, then I can't—oh, you idiot!—I _won't_ take—yes, like that!—advantage of—

"Harry!"


	2. Chapter 2

"That's _Professor Potter_ to you, Mr. Gordon," Harry told the Slytherin Head Boy in damning tones, when he "caught" her wandering the corridors upon her return from Spinner's End.

"I'm sorry, Sir—Ma—what should I call you?"

"'Professor' will do," Harry replied, her jaw tightening.

"Yes, Professor. I'm sorry, I really am. I thought you were a student just now—and I didn't know what the spell would do, before. I was just trying to—"

"I know what you were 'trying', Mr. Gordon, and I think it would be easier on all of us if you would just ask Ambrose Blakeney up to Hogsmeade some weekend instead of fighting with him all the time."

Gordon blanched. "Blakeney's an arse! I'm not interested in—"

"Language, Mr. Gordon," Harry interrupted, using her best Headmistress McGonagall impression. "Why are you on rounds when I sent you to Mr. Filch for detention?" she asked, hoping that she sounded sufficiently professorial.

Standing before the much taller, and not too much younger Gordon, Harry felt anything but a figure of authority. She had been a student with him, after all.

"Filch—Mr. Filch, that is—just uh, he just laughed when I explained things to him, Professor."

Harry sighed. Bloody stupid Filch. "Right. You will report to Professor Hagrid tomorrow and inform him that I've volunteered you to help muck out the thestral stables until the end of term, is that clear?"

"Yes, Professor."

"Further, I'm deducting one hundred points from Slytherin for your use of an unknown spell. It was dangerous and foolish, and someone could have been killed."

"One hundred! But that's—"

"Remarkably generous of me, under the circumstances, I think. And Mr. Gordon?"

"Yes, Professor?"

"Stop by my office at the end of your rounds with my copy of _Moste Potente Potions_. It's obvious to me that you aren't responsible enough to be trusted with an . . . annotated copy of that text."

Gordon looked stricken. "But then I'll fail Potions and be kicked off the Quidditch team! I'm already stuck in the Reserves, and _you_ said yourself that I belonged in the line-up. Professor, _please_. I really didn't know."

"Well, now you do," Harry said, walking past her student in dismissal.

"Professor Potter?"

Harry turned to regard Gordon. "What _is_ it?"

"If . . . if I could take it back," he began, taking a hesitant step toward her, "if there were something I could do to _correct_ the matter," he continued, a look of calculation spreading over his features that was pure Slytherin, "you know I would. It . . . it would be an honor, in fact."

His offer flummoxed Harry, not least because, looking up into the handsome, over-confident face of Marcus Gordon, she found herself more than a little tempted to take him up on it—but she was not about to let the obnoxious, over-sexed prat know _that_.

"Are you _trying_ to get yourself expelled?"

"What? No! I just—"

"That will be _another_ hundred points from Slytherin, and unless your final Potions exam of the term is _perfect_ , I'll retract my offer to write you a letter of recommendation to the Auror Corps."

Gordon's eyes widened in horror as he realized just how badly he had misjudged the situation, and he went flying down the corridor.

" _Idiot_."

"Oh, don't be so hard on the poor boy," an amused voice replied. "He's going to catch hell for losing Slytherin their first place in the running for the House Cup, but I'm certain he'll think twice again before casting any 'unknown spell'."

Harry closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She had hoped to avoid the other professors—everyone, actually—but, of course, that had been a foolish wish. 

"Good evening, Professor Flitwick."

"Good evening, Professor Potter. I do believe that Headmistress McGonagall will regret having missed all the excitement when she returns from her conference, don't you?" 

Harry snorted. "That's one way to put it."

"Indeed it is. Perhaps you and I might discuss your situation?"

"Unfortunately, there really isn't any way you can help, Sir—I mean," Harry corrected herself quickly, "Filius."

Even though she had been teaching for over a year, she still found it awkward to interact with her colleagues as their equal.

"Harry," Filius said kindly, "I'm not unaware of the textbook to which you were referring. Who do you think confiscated it in the first place?"

I always wondered about that, Harry thought, asking, "How did I get it, then?"

"Why, I believe that you have Albus to thank for that."

Harry smiled. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised."

"I daresay not."

"So, why _did_ you take it from Se—from Snape?" Harry asked, beginning to walk toward her quarters in an effort to cut the conversation short.

"Severus had a habit of studying other subjects in my class which I found objectionable," the diminutive wizard told Harry, as he fell into step with her. "I expect you haven't encountered that problem, as your subject is so glamorous to the students."

"No, I can't say as I have," Harry replied, casting about for something else to say that did not involve herself. "Was Snape a good student? I mean, despite his lack of attention?"

"Severus was a brilliant student, which shouldn't be a surprise to you, I'm sure. After working so closely with him for so many years, you must know more than most of us about his disposition and nature."

"Why would you say that?"

"Ah," Filius half-murmured, stopping his progress. "I see that I'm going to have to work up to it slowly. . . . I never did have had occasion to tell you how proud of you I was when you returned to the Order to defend Severus' actions after finding him with young Malfoy."

Harry, Hermione, and Ron had discovered Snape at one of the Malfoy holdings in France four months after he had fled Hogwarts with Malfoy. Snape had been tending to Malfoy's injuries, injuries which he had received from Voldemort as punishment for not having killed Dumbledore himself. They had learned, during Snape's one-sided conversation with the dying Slytherin, of the late Headmaster's plan, and of Snape's terrible grief in having had any part in it. He had sounded near-suicidal before they had interrupted him.

"I know it must have been hard for you to have accepted that Severus was on our side."

"I didn't want to believe in him," Harry agreed, remembering how easily she had allowed herself to take comfort in the Potions master's presence then, despite her misgivings, and how relieved she had been when he had agreed to return to Voldemort to serve as a double agent, despite his own reservations.

Snape had risked everything. There was no denying that fact.

"Of course you didn't. But you, like Severus, ignored your own desires for the good of all of us—you have a great deal in common, I believe."

Harry flushed. "You think so?"

"Indeed I do, and that is where you should begin."

"Begin?"

"Why, you don't think I surrendered that textbook without _reading_ it, do you?" Filius asked pointedly, "and you did go and see Severus this evening, did you not?"

I wonder how many of the other professors know that? God, how am I going to explain this to everyone? "Yes, he's—"

"The creator of the spell. Yet, here you stand, enchanted still, which tells me that Severus must have decided not to . . . help you unless . . . ?"

"I agreed to uh, get to know him better, first," Harry whispered.

"Stubborn man—no less stubborn than you are, yourself—and just as lonely, too."

"Lonely? I'm not lonely."

"No?" Filius asked, cocking his head at her. "You do have friends, true, but you'll forgive me for noting that you've not seen much of them—much of anyone—since coming here to teach."

"Sure, but I've been busy, Filius—and it's not possible to celebrate forever."

The post-war round of frivolity in which the Wizarding world, and Harry's friends, had indulged had proved wearying to the young hero.

"Yes, you're quite right, but I daresay that Severus was not invited anywhere to celebrate. He has no true friends, now that Albus is gone. . . . I believe that you are the closest thing to a friend the man has left."

"I wouldn't say that—and I did invite him to come to the medals ceremony, but he refused."

"Did you invite him to come because you wanted him there, or on someone else's behalf?"

"Well, it's not that I didn't think of it myself, but I may have mentioned to Snape that Percy Weasley suggested to me it would look odd if he didn't—"

"There you go, then. He no doubt supposed that you felt compelled to ask him, and that must not have seemed like much of an invitation at all. I believe that Severus must esteem you, or his pride would not have forced him to decline your offer."

"I don't think Snape likes me at all. I think he's just playing with me," Harry admitted.

Filius chuckled. "Can you truly blame him? He must be rather embarrassed, himself, to have been the cause of your current condition—well, part of it, at any rate."

Harry had not thought of matters in quite that way, and did not know how she felt about what Filius had said. "Right. It _was_ stupid of me to lend Gordon the book," she told him, hoping to distract him from offering any further unnerving opinions.

"I think it was a fine gesture. You've been very good to the Slytherin students since you began teaching here, and I, for one, appreciate that very much indeed. The rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin has been nothing but destructive, and Severus suffered badly because of it. As I said, I think that he needs a friend, and you're the ideal candidate to fill that position."

"Filius, we're talking about more than friendship, here."

"So we are, and I would suggest that you consider carefully why it was that you trusted Severus enough to go to him after your . . . disturbing experience, and proceed from there."

"If you've read the spell, then you know—"

"I'm a simple man and know very little, I'm afraid," Filius prevaricated, "but it seems clear to me that _you_ must like the man, at least a little, or you wouldn't have sought him out. Miss Granger, if I'm not mistaken, is the friend upon whom you usually call in these situations."

Hermione was currently studying at the Spellcraftres' Guild, and Harry was startled as she realized that she had not once considered going to _her_ for help.

Defensively, she retorted, "That doesn't mean I _like_ Snape."

"No, but you do respect him. . . . Is _he_ aware of that?" Filius asked, before leaving Harry alone with her thoughts.

When she surfaced from them, she decided that perhaps Filius, who she had discovered since joining the staff was a rather forceful advocate of good will amongst the faculty and Hogwarts' houses, something that she knew he took to be one of his unofficial duties as the Deputy Headmaster of the school, was correct in thinking that Snape needed a bit of looking after. 

I wonder if Snape would believe it if I told him that he already has a friend here? she asked herself, as she took herself off to the kitchens.

~*~

"What is the meaning of this?" Snape asked Harry the next afternoon, as he opened his door to find her standing there with a house elf at her side.

He was looking almost well, she noted, and rather more clean than he had the previous evening. And, as she smiled brightly at the man to cover the nervousness she was feeling to be in his presence again, she thought that she detected the scent of some disturbingly rousing, citrus-based after-shave emanating from the wizard.

"I asked you a question," Snape repeated, looking curiously at the house elf who had followed Harry into his home.

"Severus Snape, this is Winky, a free house elf."

Winky hiccoughed.

"Potter, this elf is hung over."

"You'd be the one to recognize her condition, I'm sure," Harry replied with feigned nonchalance, walking deeper into the room to stand by the unfired grate of the hearth.

Winky followed Harry's progress, spinning around and examining Snape and then his dwelling, her ears quivering in consternation.

"Winky is thinking that Sir's house elf must be very old," she said to the wizard, in a cautious and respectful tone.

"I have no house elf."

"But you is a great man!"

Snape snorted. "Potter, what falsehoods have you been spreading amongst Hogwarts' house elves about me?"

Harry shrugged and looked to Winky expectantly, inclining her head toward the wizard.

"Winky is not bound to Hogwarts, Snape Snape. They is _paying_ elves there!"

"Ah, a traditionalist."

"A good house elf is serving always—without being paid—and Winky is a good house elf," she assured Snape, ignoring his sarcasm and continuing, after bowing formally, "Winky is unbound."

"That's a ritualistic phrase, in case you weren't aware of it," Harry explained.

"I know what she means, and I expect that I do need a house elf, but—"

"Winky accepts!" the house elf exclaimed, levitating herself in her excitement.

" _What_?"

"Winky is being Sir's house elf if Sir is promising not to pay her."

"I would _never_ pay you," Snape insisted, appearing quite taken aback as Winky began to twirl, a fire appeared in the hearth, and a duster materialized in one of the house elf's hands.

"Potter!"

"What? You're the one who said the magic words, not me."

"Dust is being very bad for books, and Master Snape is having so many. Winky is—"

" _Not_ to refer to me as 'Master'."

Winky's face crumpled. "Bad, bad!" she wailed, preparing to beat herself in the head with the handle of the duster.

But Snape prevented her from doing so by declaring, "Winky! If you wish to serve me, then do so. Clean, do laundry, make tea—but leave off torturing yourself. Any house elf of mine must render herself too busy for such a useless activity."

Harry grinned. It was unexpected to see the Potions master behaving so humanely.

Squealing with delight, the now-sober Winky began to whirl around the room in a frenzy of dusting, causing a great cloud of particulate matter to arise.

Coughing, Snape gestured for Harry to follow him through the door in the wall he had opened the previous evening, slamming it behind them.

"Stop laughing," he ordered, storming down a corridor lined with shelves to lead Harry into what looked like a room that had once been used as a laboratory. Throwing himself into a moth-eaten chair, he said, "I expect that you can conjure your own?"

"Sure," Harry replied, doing so with alacrity and then making herself comfortable by placing her feet up on the ottoman she had also created, while reaching out to tap the small table she found next to her.

A tea service promptly appeared.

"Show off."

"It wasn't me. It was your house elf. Feel free to thank me any time now."

"Why should I do that? I didn't ask you to gift me with—"

"Sir is forgetting," Harry teased, "that gifts is not being given by request."

"Speak properly, or I shall hex you."

"Right then, I'm here. What shall we talk about?"

"Perhaps the subject of why you believed that the gift of a house elf was necessary."

"Gifts are usually a part of wooing."

"Are they," Snape said flatly, charming the teapot to pour two cups and sending one floating toward Harry with a flick of his wrist. "I wouldn't know."

"You should probably be grateful for that. _I_ received all sorts of strange things after the war from admirers, I guess you'd call them—people even sent me knickers."

Snape sipped his tea and then smirked. "You probably should have kept them."

Harry glowered at him and retorted. "Thanks for that."

"You're welcome," he replied, pausing a beat as his lips curled mischievously. "I kept mine."

Harry spat out her tea.

"I see that your first night as a witch has taught you nothing of lady-like behavior," Snape said, pulling a handkerchief out of the air and handing it to her.

Harry avoided his eyes as she took the square of linen and wiped her mouth. What little 'rest' she had got in bed before leaving for Spinner's End had not involved sleep. Her teacup shook in her hand as she remembered it.

"It must be quite fascinating, having such unfettered access to a body you can't possibly feel is your own," Snape essayed.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"As it happens, I do, and we are in need of a topic of conversation. Come now, Potter, you must have expected that I would wish to further my understanding of . . . Magical Theory by questioning you about the enchantment's effects," he said, gazing at her with what could almost be considered a dispassionate expression.

Nevertheless, the weight of his eyes on her discomfitted Harry. Cheerfully damning the compulsion component, she agreed."Fine. What do you want to know?"

"To start, I'd like to know about your physiological responses," Snape replied, his mouth twisting into a mocking smile. "Just how _did_ you get yourself off?"

Harry's teacup—and the tea spouting from it—froze in midair between them.

"Your temper, I see, has not improved," Snape said, lowering his wand after unfreezing the tea and returning it to its cup, which floated down to the little table in between himself and Harry.

"Stop playing with me! It's none of your business what I—"

"Of course it is, Potter—and yours, as well—for _if_ you succeed in persuading me to fuck you, I should think you'd want me to know what you liked."

"Spoken like a true gentleman," Harry spat. "I'd _like_ you to stop being such a sod. This is difficult enough as it is."

"Impossible, even."

"Don't say that," Harry said quickly. "I mean, if I can learn to wear a brassiere, you might be able to learn some manners."

"I meant that it was not possible for me to be anything but that which I am. In any case, we must talk about something, and I would like to know what you enjoy."

"Why? I mean—I'll just _bet_ —but you'll have to wait until I persuade you to fuck me to find out," Harry retorted angrily.

"Your optimism is amusing."

The wizard's words sounded like a warning.

Harry sighed and forced herself to be calm. "Look, I . . . I just _can't_ , all right? I'm not good at talking about . . . you know."

Snape leaned forward. "Perhaps you'd find it edifying to know what _I_ imagined after you left last night—to further your understanding of how you might better woo me, of course."

"Why not just 'further' me into your bedroom and get it over with?"

"Because I could avail myself of the services of any Knockturn Alley prostitute if what I wanted was merely an impersonal, un-enchanting poke. If you desire to receive your cure, you'll have to at least pretend to make an effort at inspiring me, Potter. You certainly haven't come here to _make friends_."

Friends, Harry thought, remembering what Filius had said about Snape being lonely. How can I be friends with a git who can't even have a polite conversation? she asked herself, looking at the lines of sadness about the wizard's eyes. Maybe he does want a friend, but he doesn't know how to be one. Sighing, she decided not to rise to Snape's bait.

"I'm not going to fight with you."

"How terribly boring of you, Potter."

"I'd . . . like to talk to you—about something decent," she added. "I could tell you about my curriculum, if you like."

"I will admit that I am curious to know how you've been going on," Snape admitted.

"Are you? You could always have come up to the school. You've never been shy about asking me things before."

"The circumstances to which you refer were very different. You were my student and then my . . . compatriot. It was appropriate that I ask you things."

"You know, when we met to exchange information, we did talk about other things than Voldemort."

"Yes, to stave off the boredom of waiting for it to be clear to leave our meeting points. I did not assume that you would welcome my questions outside of that context."

"Well, perhaps I would have."

"I doubt it."

"Snape, I'm here, aren't I?"

"Because you have to be."

"That's not strictly true," Harry said, retrieving her teacup. "I mean, there is at least one reason for me to remain a witch."

"And what would that be?"

Harry colored slightly and almost elected not to respond. Why did I say that? Oh, what the hell. We do have to talk about something. "I uh, I like wizards."

Snape's eyebrows flew up in surprise to hear Harry speak to him of something so private; despite his previous teasing of her, he had not expected her to be so candid. 

"Do you?" he asked, as if he had not known for some time—thanks to the interactions between Potter and Malfoy—of Harry's sexual orientation.

"Yeah, and it would probably be easier to date them if I stayed a witch. I mean, Ron would have to understand then, right?"

"Am I to understand that you have left off dating wizards because you fear the censure of your best friend?"

"Is that so hard to believe?"

Was I ever so young? Snape thought, considering again the problem of the anti-spell, for contemplating the bedding one so innocent as Harry suddenly made him feel like a satyr.

"Well?"

"I suppose not, but it doesn't speak very highly of your friendship that you haven't told Mr. Weasley about yourself. Surely you don't intend to deny your nature forever?"

Harry murmured something too low to hear.

"What was that?"

"I'm not sure. It's . . . it's awkward. Everyone expects so much of me. I don't . . . I don't want to disappoint people."

"Bah!" Snape exclaimed in disgust. "Don't be ridiculous. Did you bow to that imbecile Scrimgeour's 'requests' that you become the new face of the Ministry?"

"That's different—and what do you know about that, anyway?"

"I'm well aware of the Minister's lack of imagination. He, like most politicians, is more interested in appearances than in actual governing. In any case, Potter, you've always been your own man. I don't see why you'd allow the opinions of others to dictate your actions. You should see whomever you like. You're a hero. There would be no end of partners lining up to be with you."

"You're a hero, too, and I don't see you getting out there much."

"My situation is different. I am not liked in any quarter."

"Hence the knickers."

Snape snorted. "Yes, sent from bored house witches looking for the thrill of a response from the Order's scary Potions master. Such 'gifts' do not imply that my reputation is good."

"You never worried about your reputation when you were at Hogwarts."

"That was before I ki—"

Snape stopped speaking abruptly and poured himself more tea.

"Before you killed Professor Dumbledore," Harry finished for Snape. "Yes, but everyone knows why you had to do that, now."

"That was your doing," Snape accused.

"Yeah, so it was. I thought people should know the truth—the Headmaster would have wanted that."

"Despite your efforts to rehabilitate my reputation, I remain largely despised."

"No, you _remain_ a git," Harry protested. "How can you expect anything else? You're the one who won't leave this place—or let anyone visit you."

"You're visiting me."

"That's because of the—"

"Spell."

"Well, sure—but why'd you think I chose to come to you, anyway?"

"Need I remind you of the 'compulsion component'?"

Harry sighed at Snape's sarcasm. "I'm trying to say that I don't despise you."

"What glowing praise."

"See? That's what I mean about your being a git. If you make it impossible for anyone to be nice to you, it's your own fault when they aren't."

"'There's no need for you to call me Sir, Professor'," Snape mimicked.

"Oh for—I didn't know anything about you, then! I was just a kid."

Snape raised an amused eyebrow. "And you're so mature now?"

Harry huffed. "Look, I may be young, but I'm not stupid. I understand how much you gave to the Order, how much you risked—how much you helped me—and I respect you for it. Would you just accept that, you great prat?"

"Oh, very well. I accept that I'm a 'great prat'."

"Snape."

"I was joking, Potter. Your sense of humor has never been particularly good, either."

Harry smirked. "I don't know. Bringing you a drunken house elf—there's got to be some kind of humor in that."

"You'll forgive me if I persist in thinking that any humor on that score was accidental," Snape said, though not harshly. "She was the only one who would agree to come here, wasn't she?"

Harry looked slightly abashed. "Yeah, well, she _did_ , and that's something, isn't it."

Yes, it's "something," Snape thought, conscious of the dawning sensation of gratitude he felt toward Harry's apparent concern for him.

The gift of a house elf was a rare thing, indeed, because the beings were, for the most part, long-tied to families and, when given their freedom, they sought out households similar to their previous ones. No house elf, Snape knew, would have, on his or her own, looked upon _his_ arrangements as being favorable. 

"It _was_ a kind gesture on your part," he told Harry, and was surprised to find that he meant every word.

Harry smiled. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Snape said. You truly are.

Harry settled back into her chair and decided that perhaps the Potions master was not such an unbearable git, after all. "I could get used to this. It's nice having someone to talk to."

Snape permitted himself to smile. "But only about 'something decent'?" he teased.

Harry shivered. When he smiles like that, he's really quite handsome, isn't he? 

This time, it did not disturb her to find Snape attractive.

"So, did you want to talk about my curriculum?"


	3. Chapter 3

A pale sun was rising over Hogwarts as Harry Apparated to the edge of its grounds after having spent the better part of the previous several hours discussing Magical Theory with Snape. She had managed not to embarrass herself _too_ badly, but she had to admit that keeping up with the conversation had been a bit daunting. Despite her lack of esoteric knowledge, or perhaps because of it, Snape had carefully explained various spells and processes that he felt might be of use to her as a professor.

But he was treating me like a student, she mused, pausing by Hagrid's cottage and wondering if she should stop for a visit. No, too early. If he's not asleep, Hagrid will be up to something in the Forbidden Forest. Besides, I don't want to have to explain myself, and I doubt he'll have any insight as to how I ought to go about wooing Snape.

On that score, Harry found that she knew absolutely nothing.

It was Sunday, and she was prepared—well, as prepared as she could be, all things considered—for her Monday classes, so Harry decided to walk into Hogsmeade. She was not at all tired, and she thought a walk might help her to clear her mind and to come up with a plan to seduce the Potions master.

Because talking about my classes with Snape will just make him think that Headmistress McGonagall is no better at finding competent professors than Albus Dumbledore was.

"This is going to be impossible, isn't it?"

"Well, good mornin'!"

"Oh! Good morning, Hagrid," Harry said, wrapping her cloak more firmly about herself and turning to regard the half-giant, who had a bag slung over his shoulder.

Upon closer inspection, something, or several somethings, appeared to be moving within it.

"Do I even want to know what you've got there?"

Hagrid chortled. "This's just somethin' for Professor Sprout's Sixth Years, an' nothin' to be concerned abou'. What brings you out so early?"

"Er, I couldn't sleep and thought I might take a walk. Talk to you later?"

"Not so fast there, Professor Potter. You're lookin' a bit col'. Would you like some tea?"

"No thanks, Hagrid. I think I've had all the tea I can stand, to tell you the truth."

"Well, no wonder you can't sleep if you've been up all nigh' drinkin' tea. Worrying about your classes, were you?"

"Is your . . . bag supposed to be making that noise?" Harry asked, hoping to distract her friend.

"They're out o' sorts because o' the engorgement charm."

"Professor Sprout's had you _engorge_ something?"

"Yep. Black Flobber Worms—they're fanged to help 'em dig through clay. I've been out all nigh' collecting 'em."

"That's . . . nice," Harry said, hoping that Hagrid would not offer to show them to her.

"Would you like to see 'em?"

"No! I mean, I wouldn't want them to get out."

"Aw, they won't go far, the lazy buggers. Here," Hagrid said, setting down his bag and opening it.

Harry approached it carefully, and saw a glistening, moving mass of what appeared to be black leather tubes writhing around each other. "Wow. Uh, they really are . . . engorged, aren't they? Thanks, Ha—watch it! That one's trying to slide out," Harry warned, leaping forward to shove one of the worms back inside the bag.

As she did so, her cloak fell off her shoulders.

Hagrid brought down one large fist on the "head" of the escaping worm to stun it before shoving it back into the bag, and then turned toward Harry and demanded, "Wha' happened to you?"

Shit, Harry thought, scrambling to put her cloak back on. "Uh, just a classroom prank that got out of hand. I should be back to normal in no time, really."

"Does the Headmistress know abou' this?"

"Not yet. You know she's away, and—"

"You'd best come on inside," Hagrid told Harry, shouldering his bag and walking away before she could protest.

In no time at all, she had explained—everything.

"He wants you to woo him?" Hagrid asked, incredulous and angry.

"It's not as bad as it sounds."

"It's probably worse. I can't believe Snape'd do such a thing!"

"Can't you?"

"Have you told Hermione, yet? She could probably find a way to fix you."

" _No_ , Hagrid, and I'm not going to because then Ron would find out and no doubt do something noble like offer to deflower me," Harry said in a rush, blushing furiously at the thought. "Promise me that you won't tell her, either."

"You aren't still carrying a torch for Ron, are you?" Hagrid asked, peering down at Harry as she blushed. "So you are, too. 'M sorry abou'—"

"There's nothing to be sorry about. I'm _not_ in love with Ron, Hagrid—not anymore—I just don't want him to treat me any differently because I've suddenly developed breasts. That would be weird."

"Sure, I understan', but I still say that this whole business is wrong. How're you supposed to go about wooin' Snape when you've never even . . . ah, had the time to woo anybody?"

Well, that was polite, Harry thought, admitting, "I don't know."

"But you do know the papers will get wind o' this, don't you? There's a Hogsmeade weekend comin' up, and the kids write home, besides."

"Then I'll just have to be quick about persuading Snape to un-enchant me."

Hagrid appeared skeptical. "It's just not righ'."

"It is . . . what it is," Harry replied, through a yawn. 

"Uh, huh. Say, why don't you take a nap? I've got to get the flobbers settled in Greenhouse One, an' that'll take me some time. I'll make you somethin' to eat when I get back, an' we can see abou' figurin' this all ou'."

Relieved that Hagrid was not pressing the matter, and suddenly too tired to consider why he was being so understanding, Harry agreed, and Hagrid took his leave of her, all the while muttering about how there "must be somethin' _someone_ can do."

"There really isn't," Harry said, closing the door behind her friend and then stretching out on top of his cot.

When she woke up, the sun was going down and there was no sign of Hagrid. There was, however, a persistent knocking sound that she could not place. Shaking off her post-nap muzziness, she realized that someone was tapping on the cottage's door. Rising, she went to open it, but found no one standing there.

"I must have been dreaming."

"Ahem," came the sound of someone clearing her throat.

Harry looked down and saw a very short, very stout, very _purple_ lady—that is to say, from her shoes to the hat upon her head, the woman was attired in varying shades of purple, one of which matched her deeply purple hair—very rapidly tapping her foot against the stone of Hagrid's front step.

"Oh, hello. May I help you?"

"Ah, yes. You are Miss Harry James Potter, late, a wizard, currently, a witch obligated under the most odd of circumstances to woo one Severus Sebastian Snape, reputation somewhat muddied, fortune annoyingly unknown?"

"Forgive me?"

Pushing past Harry, the woman said, "Oh, there's nothing for _you_ to be sorry about, _that_ much is clear. Now then, my name is Laura Lilac Liltington, Head of the Courtship Division of Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes' Love Department, and I'm here to help you."

Gobsmacked, all Harry could do was reach down and shake Liltington's outstretched hand.

"Sit, my dear, for I must acquaint you quickly with your object's file before we see to your make-over. We have precious little time to spare, for I understand that you're a professional 'woman', as well—an educator! How noble, indeed. And I hear that you were active in bringing about the end of the recent Above-Grounder unpleasantness, too."

"The what? Do you mean the War of the Second Rise of Voldemort?" Harry asked, giving the conflict its full title and wondering what Liltington meant by "Above-Grounder." "Are you a leprechaun, by any chance, Miss—"

" _Mrs_., my dear, Mrs. Liltington, and yes, I am of Lepre _chaunian_ extraction. I don't often travel above ground, you understand, but the dear Misters Weasley insisted that only the best courtship consultant would do for _you_ , so here I am."

"Ah, you're here," Hagrid said then, ash he entered the hut.

"Hagrid! How _could_ you have—"

"Now Harry, don't—"

"Mr. Rubeus Hagrid?" Liltington interrupted.

"Tha's righ'."

"You _do_ understand the terms and conditions of the contract into which you entered on behalf of Miss Harry James Potter as set down by the Courtship Division of Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes' Love Department, do you? that all negotiations between a courtship consultant and a courter _must_ be private? The Misters Weasley explained this to you, did they?"

"Yes," Hagrid said, clearly flustered by the speed of Liltington's speech.

"Excellent. Now get out."

"But I live here."

"Out," the courtship consultant repeated, pointing emphatically at the door.

Harry found that she did not feel sorry for Hagrid at all.

"I'll come back in an hour, Harry. I've got to feed the thestrals, anyhow."

"Isn't Gordon helping you with that?"

"Tha's righ'. I'd best be—"

" _Going_ ," Liltington interrupted, as purple sparks flew from her fingertips.

Hagrid gaped, but he did as Liltington insisted.

"This is his house," Harry protested, as the door slammed shut.

"Yes, and Mr. Rubeus Hagrid offered the dwelling as our meeting point, as our private meeting point," the lady said, gesturing for Harry to sit down at the table before Hagrid's hearth and doing the same. "Now then, to business."

"Wait!"

"I did explain to you that our time is short?"

"You did, but let me get this straight. Hagrid went to Fred and George—"

"The Misters Weasley."

"—and asked them to get help for me to woo Snape?"

"That one Miss Harry James Potter—you—be provided a courtship consultant and chaperone in her attempt to woo Mr. Severus Sebastian Snape—"the manipulative git"—for the purposes of retrieving her—your—"bollocks," yes, that was the nature of the agreement, and a costly business it is, too, so, as I said, we _must_ begin."

"Do you do this sort of thing all the time?"

"Oh, no, my clients usually have all their parts. You're a first for me."

"This is 'a first' for me, as well," Harry told her, wondering what she would say to "the Misters Weasley" when next she saw them, and feeling grateful for Liltington's having insisted on so much privacy. I expect that means that Fred and George won't tell Ron. I hope so, anyway.

"I expect it is," Liltington replied, interrupting Harry's thoughts. "We'll begin with the standard questionnaire."

Harry opened her mouth to ask what that was, but Liltington just kept talking.

"Most of the requisite information has already been provided by Mr. Rubeus Hagrid and the Misters Weasley, but I must know whether or not you'd like to pursue anything further than retrieving your masculinity in your wooing of Mr. Severus Sebastian Snape."

Again, Harry tried to speak, but Liltington did not pause.

"You will understand, I'm sure, that I traditionally effect a marriage between the courter and the courtee at the end of my contractual obligations, that, in fact, marriage is my _usual_ contractual aim. In your case, however, neither the Misters Weasley or Mr. Rubeus Hagrid could say for certain whether or not your desire _was_ matrimony."

"Well, that's because—"

"I must tell you, Miss Harry James Potter, that to be contracted to see to it that a courter and a courtee merely _consummate_ a relationship—no matter that it has to do with an un-enchantment—strikes me as particularly crass and disturbing. I hope you don't mind my saying so. I am one for straight-speaking."

"What was your question?" Harry asked, when she was finally certain the courtship consultant had finished speaking.

"Do you want anything more than your bollocks back, dear?"

"Oh. Well, I hadn't thought that far, to be honest."

Liltington pursed her lips in disapproval. "I see. Well, that's why I'm here, isn't it? Do you love Mr. Severus Sebastian Snape?"

"No!"

"No?"

"No."

Liltington removed a large scroll from a gigantic purple purse that appeared before her on the table as soon as she reached for it—it had not been with her before—and began busily writing upon it. "And do you find him attractive?"

"Uh, well, when he washes—"

"There are _hygiene_ issues?"

"A few, I guess," Harry replied, trying not to giggle at how scandalized Liltington seemed.

"Miss Harry James Potter, I must ask you to take the matter before you seriously."

Sure, I'll take this ridiculous 'matter' seriously, Harry thought, but mumbled only a contrite, "Sorry."

"Do _not_ mumble."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be that, either. Now, are you saying that Mr. Severus Sebastian Snape does not _wash_?"

"Well, he did yesterday. I think because of me, too."

"Oh, that's very positive, indeed," the woman said, proceeding to scribble something else on the scroll. "Now then, would you please stand up?"

Harry stood up at once before even thinking about it.

"Spin."

Harry complied.

"Your make-over should be a simple matter of taming that hair of yours and finding you clothing that fits—and _be_ fits a professional woman. Dresses, I think, are in order."

"Dresses? But I'm a wizard!"

"You aren't at the moment, and if you wish to become one again, you'll listen to reason and acquiesce to the fittings," Liltington told Harry, snapping her fingers.

Instantly, a trio of lavender pixies flew from the courtship consultant's handbag and rushed toward Harry, buzzing about her as they measured her body with a long, gossamer thread before returning to Liltington and nestling in her bushy purple hairdo, presumably, Harry thought, to inform her of what they had learned.

"Yes? Yes, I see. _Excellent_."

"What's 'excellent'?"

"Twee, Twaa, and Twuu tell me that you're the perfect size to fit into the results of their recent experimental haberdashery that was rejected— _rejected_ , can you believe that?—by one of our previous clients. There truly _is_ no accounting for taste. I'll have the garments ready for you to try on tomorrow evening. Shall we meet here at say, seven o'clock? That _should_ be enough time for me to have fleshed out the particulars of your wooing plan."

"You're making a plan?"

"Of _course_ , I'm making a plan. The Love Department of the Courtship Division of Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes is known for its attention to the smallest detail of every aspect of a courter's needs, and the Misters Weasley did insist that you have the best of everything provided to you as you sought to achieve your goal of . . . 'getting your bollocks back'," Liltington said, her tiny nose wrinkling slightly in distaste. Are you quite certain that you're not in love with Mr. Severus Sebastian Snape?"

"Yes, quite certain. This isn't about _love_ , it's about—"

"Retrieving your masculinity. Oh, very well," the woman said, rising and stuffing the scroll back into her handbag. "Tomorrow at seven, then?"

"Didn't you say something about Snape's file?"

"Under the circumstances, I hardly think it will matter to you what's in that, but rest assured, I'll make available to you whatever information is pertinent as it becomes so. Good night!"

With that, the courtship consultant disappeared in a cloud of purple smoke.

Harry was still coughing when Hagrid returned, unrepentant about having called in "a professional," as he referred to Mrs. Laura Lilac Liltington, and more excited than was Harry to hear about what the courtship consultant had planned.

"But Hagrid, she didn't actually _tell_ me anything about her plan."

"Well, at least someone has one, righ'?"

"I suppose—but when did Fred and George get into the matchmaking business?"

Hagrid chuckled. "There's no tellin' wha' those two'll come up with, is it?"

That's what I'm afraid of, Harry thought, smiling weakly.

"Cheer up, now Harry. You'll be back to normal in no time, and it'll all be done _properly_ , too."

Harry was not at all certain that Snape would agree with Hagrid's assessment of matters.

But then, why should I care about that? He was the one who wanted us to get to know each other better, and I've no doubt that Liltington will see to it that we do. I just wish I knew _how_.

~*~

Harry received her first clue the next morning from the headline under the fold of the _Daily Prophet_ : "PROF POTTER'S FEARLESS METHODS AMAZE MANY." 

"Oh, shit!" Harry exclaimed, dribbling tea down her chin.

"This reporter," Harry read, noting with no surprise that the "journalist" was Rita Skeeter, "has learned of one of the exciting new instruction methods being employed by Miss Harry James Potter, heroine of the Wizarding world, and the youngest professor to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts in Hogwarts' history. . . . He/she found it appropriate to use himself/herself as an object lesson to illustrate the consequences of ill-thought spell-casting. . . . 'That's right', Deputy Headmaster Filius Flitwick affirmed, 'Professor Potter has been in consultation with Severus Snape on the matter of an area of Magical Theory relevant to . . . ah, the teaching of Defense . . . . Why, I expect that Hogwarts will have the best curriculum in Defense in all of Europe because of their collaboration'. . . . When this reporter asked the Deputy Headmaster if he meant to bring Snape on staff at the school, he had no further comment, but it seems clear that the former Potions master is still quite involved with his most accomplished student."

"Snape is going to kill me," Harry breathed, flinging the paper down and throwing on her clothing, while not even daring to think about what the Headmistress would have to say about the article—or her "experimentation with several disciplines."

She was about to rush through her door when a knock fell upon it.

"Professor Potter!" the stentorian tones of Minerva McGonagall's voice rang out.

Damn, Harry thought, opening the door to the Headmistress. "Good mor—"

"What's good about it? Have you and Flitwick run mad? And what's Severus about by—oh. Oh, dear. You really are a . . . a _witch_ ," Minerva said, stopping her progress into the room to stare at Harry. "I thought that was all just nonsense."

"It's only temporary."

"Is it?" Minerva asked, removing her gloves.

Harry saw that the Headmistress was still in her traveling clothes.

"I thought you weren't due back until Wednesday?"

"As if I could stay away with all this going on," Minerva declared, waving her gloves at Harry. "Besides, the Council on Transfiguration has never seen the like. Everyone kept asking me all morning—"

"It's only eight thirty."

"—since we began at _six_ why I wasn't presenting on your little experiment in 'Magical Theory' since it obviously involved a Transfiguration component. I don't believe for a moment that you _planned_ to alter your sex, so what happened? What does _Severus_ have to do with any of it? And by the way, I passed Ron, Hermione, and Remus on my way up here. They are waiting in my office by now, but I thought you and I would discuss matters first."

Oh, that's just _great_. "Um, thank you?"

Minerva sighed. "Don't thank me yet, Professor Potter."

"Look, during class, one of my students—"

"Which class?"

"The Gryffindor-Slytherin Seventh Years."

"Marcus _Gordon_ did this to you?"

"He intended to do it to Ambrose—"

"Blakeney. Of course he did. Why those two don't just—oh, never mind—and you stepped in front of his spell, did you?"

Before Harry could respond, the door to her chamber opened and Severus Snape stormed in.

"Potter, just what did you _do_?"

"Severus! Don't you knock?" 

"Forgive me, Minerva, but the provocation was great. I am not used to—"

"Rising this early? Or were you going to say something quite untrue about being the subject of praiseworthy publicity? Because the article did paint you in a rather favorable light."

"But why _is_ there such an article?"

"I think that would be because of Mrs. Laura Lilac Liltington," Harry said, glad to have someone else with her as she explained things to Snape.

Minerva uttered an exclamation of dismay. "You don't mean that _leprechaun_ , do you?"

"You know about her?" Harry asked, deciding that this was not a good thing.

"Fred Weasley introduced her to me not long ago and intimated that I might be interested in her services."

Snape snorted.

"Belt up, Severus. It's not funny."

"Did you take him up on his suggestion?" Snape asked, unrepentantly smirking.

"Of _course_ I—would someone _please_ explain to me what is going on?"

Turning to regard Harry smugly, Snape asked, "Miss Potter?"

Thanks a lot, you prat. "Hagrid found out about the enchantment—I wasn't going to tell anyone—and thought I might need some help handling matters. I mean, it wouldn't have looked good for anyone if people had found out that students were hexing each other during classes."

"Yes," said Minerva, "but what, exactly, do you mean by 'matters'? The school cannot afford bizarre publicity. The Board of Governors will—"

"Be perfectly delighted to know how well you're handling the necessary changes to the curriculum of the Defense course. I believe Scrimgeour has been agitating for some time to see that all of Hogwarts' courses were brought up to date," Snape interrupted, as if he had finally decided to help Harry instead of making things worse for her.

"I suppose, looking at it like that, you're right. But Harry, you surely didn't authorize Liltington to lie for you, did you? And just what kind of detention has Gordon received? Oh! And why would Hagrid have thought to engage the services of a _courtship consultant_ on your behalf?"

"You're familiar with the fairy-tale about a frog being kissed?" Snape asked.

Harry gaped at him.

Minerva looked between them and pursed her lips.

"I gave Gordon Snape's old Potions text," Harry admitted.

"What?" Minerva asked, appearing shocked. "But—"

"She obscured the more dangerous spells," Snape explained, "not thinking that the one that altered her sex would be of any interest to a student."

Minerva snapped shut her mouth and glared at Snape.

"Why look at me like that? It was her doing."

"Out!"

"Now, Minerva, I—"

"Get out, Snape. Wait with the others in my office if you've the . . . the _nerve_. I wish to speak to Professor Potter alone."

"Unfortunately, I have an appointment to keep," Snape said, not looking at Harry.

Oh, no! Not with Liltington, Harry thought, watching the Potions master leave as quickly as he had come. "Shit," she said, when she and Minerva were alone.

"Is that man _imposing_ himself upon you?"

Things were so far out of control that Harry could not even feel embarrassed as she answered, "Obviously not, Headmistress, or I'd have all the 'nerve' I needed."

Minerva looked at Harry for a moment, her lips twitching as she considered the other witch, and then she gave in to her internal mirth and began to laugh. "Oh, oh . . . if only . . . Albus were here," she gasped through her chuckles, before continuing, "I think . . . I _know_ that he . . . would have enjoyed this situation immensely."

"What are you _saying_?"

"What _am_ I saying? I can always tell Portrait Albus, now can't I? But perhaps not today."

"That's all you've got to say?"

"What else is there to say? You don't want my involvement in this mess, surely?"

"Not really."

"Well then, I shall leave you to conduct your 'affair' in peace. . . . Shall I tell the others to expect you?"

"No!"

"No? You wouldn't like to explain? No, I don't expect you _would_ ," Minerva said, pulling her gloves back on. "I'm returning to the conference, but I expect that you or Filius will keep me informed of your 'collaboration' with Severus. And Harry?"

"Yes?" she replied, feeling sulky.

"Severus enjoys Shakespeare a great deal. I think you may wish to further your suit with the gift of a rare folio. I'm certain that Filius could direct you to the appropriate antique book shop, if you like."

With that, the Headmistress was gone, leaving Harry to think, I don't know if I like _any_ of this. Damn the Courtship Division of Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes' Love Department!

By the end of the day, Harry had received a letter from every member of the Board of Governors praising her for her ingenuity—and invitations from the two single wizards on the Board to dinner—they did not make her feel any better.

~*~

"It's uncomfortable! It _clings_. I'm not wearing it," Harry insisted later that night, as Liltington's pixies poured her into a gown generous of fabric, but stingy of drape. 

"Codswallop. It's quite comely, and only accentuates your attributes. Move in it. You see?" Liltington asked, as Harry spun from side to side upon the fitting box. "You can move in the dress just fine. You'll wear it."

"I will _not_. I don't think I should wear any of these," Harry replied, waving her arms at the pile of dresses that the courtship consultant had insisted that she try on. 

They all shimmered, or clung, or had alarmingly low necklines that were just a bit too high for her to reject them as indecent. They were also all so nicely tailored that Harry knew most witches would pay ridiculously high sums for any of them. It made her wonder just how much Hagrid was paying for Liltington's services, and that made her feel guilty.

He's only trying to help. I know I need it, but . . . but really, it's not like I'm planning on _remaining_ a witch!

"Stop daydreaming and put this on," Liltington said, holding up a fur-lined, hooded cape. "This is nice and Yuletide-y. I think it will do for your first date."

"My what? Who said anything about dating?"

"You do wish to court Mr. Severus Sebastian Snape?"

"Apparently."

"That means dating, my dear. Oh, it will be private, of course, but you'll still need to pursue the traditional means of wooing if you're to achieve your goal."

"And just what does _that_ mean?"

"Why, it means that you'll have to drive him wild with desire for you. You _must_ make him feel desperate to have you, or you'll never get your bollocks back, dear."

"And how am _I_ going to be made desperate enough to have him?" Harry demanded, feeling a bit as though she had said something rude. He's not that bad.

Liltington giggled. "Twee, Twaa, and Twuu have already seen to Mr. Severus Sebastian Snape."

"Good," Harry retorted, suddenly very curious to see the wizard again. "I'll wear the clingy one, then. When's this date to be, anyway?"

"Why, in half an hour, my dear."

"What?"

"I was under the impression that you did not wish to suffer your female form for long. Was I mistaken?" Liltington asked, as one of the pixies began to twist Harry's hair into what felt like an elaborate style.

"No, but—"

"Don't be nervous. I've charmed the heels of your boots to be anti-tripping, so you'll be able to stride about as you're used to doing, and your hair will remain perfect, and your garments won't wrinkle—you can get up to a great deal of wooing and still look pretty as a picture."

"My appearance isn't what I'm worried about."

"Oh?"

"It's the uh, dating. Snape said that he wouldn't . . . un-enchant me until I could give him my word that I desired his touch."

"Ah, yes. Typical of a man like that, I should think, but don't you worry. He'll be very handsome, himself. I'm certain that you'll approve of him."

"I . . . ow!"

"Twuu, do be careful."

"How can you tell them apart?"

Liltington favored Harry with a sympathetic look. "Above-Grounder vision, how do you go on? In any case, would it be possible to charm your eyesight and lose those glasses? You'd look ever so much more elegant without them."

"If it's all the same to you, I think I'll keep them," Harry replied, feeling as though everything were happening entirely too quickly. "Did you say before that you'd act as my chaperone?"

"Ah, yes. That matter. You know, if your object is the _sex_ ," Liltington said crisply, "perhaps my presence would be a distraction, but the Misters Weasley—and also their brother and his charming companion—did express a desire—"

"You've talked to Ron and Hermione? But you said—"

"It's not my doing that they were present with the Misters Weasleys when I met with them to discuss the arrangements this morning. Oh, and there was one other gentleman, too, a Mr. Remus John Lupin. Are you familiar with him?"

"Yes, but—"

"Then that's all right. Now, the Misters Weasley wanted me to make absolutely certain, as did your friends, that you were entering into the un-enchantment of your own free will, and how I'm to ensure that to their satisfaction if not present on your date, I do not know. Any thoughts, dear?"

"I should have talked to them."

"You wish to speak to your friends?"

"Well, I—"

Liltington waved a hand at the door to Hagrid's hut, which opened to reveal Remus, Ron, and Hermione standing in front of a worried-looking Hagrid. 

Harry thought she heard masculine giggling, as well, that sounded as if it had come from Fred and George, but she did not see them.

"Come in, please, and be quick about it, for we've no time to lose," Liltington instructed, standing back to admire the handiwork of her pixie seamstresses. "Lovely, my dear, quite."

"Cor!" Ron exclaimed. "You _are_ a girl!"

"Of course she is, Ron," Hermione said, thwapping him on the back of his head. "Be sensitive!"

Ron's gaze locked onto Harry's bosom for half a second until Remus pulled up his head by the hair.

"Sorry," Ron said, looking anything but. "You can't blame me, can you? You've got—"

Hermione's glare silenced him.

"Oh, Harry. This is . . . unexpected. I knew when I read the article this morning that something untoward had occurred."

"Yeah, Hermione. That's one way to put it."

"And you'll have to kiss Snape in order to fix it?" Ron asked Harry, who blanched and looked to Remus for help.

"Er, say Ron," Hagrid put in, "I think maybe you an' I'd better make ourselves scarce. You've seen as how Harry's all righ', an' now—"

"Oh, no. I'm not leaving now."

"Yes you are, brother," Fred and George Weasley said as one, as they materialized just inside the door.

"I knew it. You were out there!"

"'Course we were," one of the twins agreed. "Customer service is just a part of—"

"I did say that time is short?" asked Liltington.

"Right you are, Ma'am," the twins replied, pulling a protesting Ron from the room.

"I'll uh, just go on with them, then," Hagrid said. 

Hermione looked at Harry approvingly. "We lied to Ron, obviously. If anything comes of this, well, I'm sure Professor Snape will help you explain," she said, reaching up to give Harry a hug—Harry was standing on the dresser's block—before following the others out.

"Harry," Remus said, as Liltington stepped delicately away. "You've had an interesting few days, I'd imagine."

Harry snorted and stepped down. "This is a bloody mess, isn't it?"

"As messes go, this one is surprisingly bloodless—for the moment."

As the implications of Remus' words sunk in, Harry flushed. Oh, God. Kill me now, she thought.

"Sit down a second and let me ask you something."

"All right," Harry replied, carefully spreading her cloak and gown out as she sat on Hagrid's cot, having forgotten completely about the anti-wrinkling charm.

"Now, don't be angry with me," Remus began.

Harry's eyes widened. "About _what_?"

"I went to see Severus this afternoon."

"Why?"

"Well, you wouldn't see us, but Fred and George explained what had happened, and I had to be sure that you were all right, and I wanted to know what Severus' . . . intentions were."

"Remus!"

"It was either me or Ron."

"Oh, God. I guess I'm glad it was you, then. What did he say?"

"Ron or Severus?"

"Both, I guess."

"Ron was furious—hence the kissing business—and Severus was surprisingly civil."

"He _was_?"

"He was also vague as to the particulars, and took some pleasure in telling me that he was not about to 'bruit a _lady's_ affairs about' with me."

"But you seem to know everything, anyway—Fred and George?"

"Yes, and you shouldn't be too angry with them, or Hagrid, you know. They were looking out for you in their own ways."

"I know that, but Remus, I have to . . . and . . . ."

"That brings me to my question. No matter what Severus may have told you, the category of spell he wrought can be unmade by the application of another, more powerful charm. Of course, that sort of thing takes time to crafte, which means that you'd have to remain a witch for oh, at least a year."

Harry was indignant. "He never said anything like that to me. Wait, did you say it could take a year?"

"A year, minimum, but that won't matter if you don't truly mind Severus' . . . breaking the spell. Do you?" Remus asked gently, his eyes full of paternal concern. "I doubt you'd have gone along with all this if you were opposed to it, and, if you don't mind my asking, I'd like to know exactly why that is."

Harry looked down at her hands. Why didn't I ask for anyone's help? I could have, I know that. I . . . I probably should have, but . . . . "I uh, I think . . . ."

"You like Severus, Harry? I know that you fancied—"

"I did not fancy Ron!" Harry lied.

"I was going to say Draco Malfoy. I think you know that I know you did fancy Ron, more than that, at one time, even."

Harry blushed and said nothing. Shit. Shit. Shit! "Does Ron know that?"

Remus chuckled. "Of course not. What was that Hermione was always saying? Something about a teaspoon and emotional depth?"

"Ron's not thick," Harry loyally protested, turning to look at Remus. "He's just never had any reason to suspect, is all. I didn't think he'd understand, and then I got over him, and then—"

"You kept quiet because you were afraid. I know a little something about that," Remus replied, favoring Harry with a pointed glance.

"I guess you do, at that. Did . . . did my Dad know, about you and Sirius, I mean?"

"Sirius didn't want him to know, so he overlooked a lot."

"That must have been awkward for you."

"We were kids then. I would like to think that James and Sirius would have grown out of their . . . infantile behavior, but we'll never know, will we?" Remus said, looking sad.

Harry sighed. "He would have disapproved, then."

"No. Your father would have loved you no matter what. That, I know."

"How can you?"

"Because I wanted him to know about me. Who do you think I talked to about Sirius? Look, I've been meaning to talk to you for a while about this, but there never seemed to be a decent way to broach the topic. Your liking wizards? That's not a bad thing, and you shouldn't be afraid of losing Ron's friendship because of it. He's not 'thick', as you said, and you have to know he wants you to be happy. What I want to know is whether you've decided that your happiness might rest with Severus. If it does, and you want more time to work that out, you don't have to have him un-enchant you."

"I do like wizards, and . . . and Snape, in particular, but I don't think that he likes me—and even if he does, how will I explain it to Ron?"

"First, if Snape didn't like you, he would have broken the spell the moment you asked him and then mocked you for it after. From our discussion—and his actions—I think it's a safe bet that he likes you well enough. I think he's unsure as to whether or not _you_ like _him_."

"I'm in this sodding dress, aren't I?"

"So you are. What a life you've had, eh?"

Harry smiled. "Luna will be after me again to write that book."

"I've no doubt."

"And I've a time-table to keep," Liltington said, approaching the pair. 

"Was there a 'second'?" Harry asked, ignoring the courtship consultant.

"Only that Ron will understand—eventually. He's never liked Severus because of how the man treated you badly in the past, but if he sees him treating you well, Ron will come around."

"Let's hope so," Harry said. "Right, I'm ready," he told Liltington.

"Finally! Now then, Mr. Remus John Lupin, if you're quite satisfied that the courter has willingly placed herself in my hands, I must ask you to allow me to get on with meeting my contractual obligations."

"Of course," Remus said, walking toward the door. Before he opened it, he turned and asked, "Harry?"

"Yeah. It's okay, Remus. Thanks—for the chat—I mean. It helped."

"I'm glad to hear it, but I wanted to say one last thing."

"Yeah?"

"Make him work for it," Remus told her, grinning mischievously.

"Make him work for what, Miss Harry James Potter?" Liltington asked, as Remus pulled the door shut behind him.

"Oh, uh . . . ."

"Have you changed your mind then, about the nature of your goal?"

"Let's say that I may want to . . . expand upon it, a bit."

The courtship consultant clapped her hands together. "Oh, excellent news, indeed! Then you _will_ require a chaperone!"


	4. Chapter 4

Snape stood in Albus' office—he could never think of it as Minerva's—and stared at the former Headmaster's empty portrait. In his hands, he held a Time Turner. The Ministry had recalled all such devices during the war, but then, Snape had not exactly been working for the government at that time. After his bizarre encounter with Liltington's pixies, he was glad he had missed the notice to hand it in.

"Albus," he demanded again, and waited.

"He's off eavesdropping," the portrait of Phineas Nigellus told him.

"Well, make yourself useful and—"

"Ah, Severus! How good to see you, old friend—and looking so very well, too," Portait Albus greeted him, peering out of his frame to take in Snape's outfit of a silk cream-colored shirt, dark green trousers, an embroidered waist-coat of the same color, and a simply tailored black frock coat which ended in tails. "Those are fine boots," Portrait Albus commented, taking in the splendor of the thigh-high dragon hide boots of muted crimson that the wizard was wearing. "And has your hair grown longer, or have you cut it?"

"It's longer," Snape replied. "Those damned pixies charmed it and tied it back with a leather lace. I look ridiculous," he muttered, waving one be-gloved hand.

The leather was of a matching hide to his boots.

Portrait Albus smiled widely. "It's a rare pleasure to see you so proud of yourself, Severus."

"Don't encourage the coxcomb, man."

"Do be quiet, Phineas. I want to hear about these pixies and Severus' plans."

"Albus, if you knew what I was planning, you'd—"

"Wish you well—and I do know. The other portraits told me at once about Harry's predicament, and I saw her give Marcus Gordon your old text myself. I am curious, however, to know how you came to be so elegantly attired."

"You mean, you don't know everything? I'm shocked."

"Still so sarcastic? You'd best watch that unfortunate tendency in yourself if you want to woo Harry."

"I, woo _her_?"

"Him, Severus."

Snape snorted. 

"Why are you here? Never tell me you've come to ask my permission."

Damn. The old codger does know everything.

"Severus?"

"Yes, damn it! Potter's only nineteen! Someone should give permission. Who else can I ask? I feel . . . ."

"Guilty?"

"Yes, Albus—ridiculous and guilty."

"You shouldn't."

"Why ever not?"

"He must have come to you for help, isn't that right? Oh," Portrait Albus said, as another figure appeared behind him and whispered something too low for Snape to hear, "and I have it on good authority that Harry's being outfitted in a _dress_ of all things. Further, there is a party of his friends coming down the corridor discussing that very thing. They seem concerned about your intentions."

"I know. Shortly after I left here this morning, Remus Lupin appeared on my doorstep—followed by a Mrs.—"

"Laura Lilac Liltington and her trio of helpers? Ah, yes, that would explain the pixies. What a charming woman. Do you know, I've engaged her services on Minerva's behalf?"

Snape almost choked to hear it. "How? You're dead."

"Quite, but as I neglected to write a will, my Gringott's vault is still embarrassingly full. I may not have been able to take my fortune with me, but I retain access to it, you see."

"As fascinating as that is, I want to discuss—"

"What did you tell Remus about your intentions toward Harry?"

"I told him nothing. It was none of his business."

"Yes, but what did you _say_?"

"I said that the brat wanted my assistance with un-enchanting herself—"

"Himself."

"—and that I was providing it. I then invited him to leave."

"Hence his arrival here."

"They're _here_?" Snape asked, looking toward the door in consternation.

"Oh, they won't be able to enter just yet, but tell me, what _are_ your intentions toward Harry?"

"Did you truly try to set Minerva up with the help of that leprechaun?"

Nigellus answered, "It isn't good for a witch in her prime like that to brood. Fine-looking woman!"

"Thank you, Phineas. Severus? We haven't time for you to stall. Your intentions?"

"I haven't formed any beyond . . . ."

"Having a bit of fun with the boy?"

" _Girl_ , Albus."

Portrait Albus sighed in amused exasperation. "I understand why it must flummox you to view Harry in light of the virginal young woman. Being the traditional sort, it must make it easier for you to consider pursuing the boy, rather than sitting home of an evening and missing Harry's company while—"

"Who said anything about missing Harry's company?"

"—drinking yourself into a stupor. Wasteful, that. But it would be a mistake for you to overlook the fact that Harry is a powerful wizard with internal resources far greater than many of us possess. Could you or I have handled the shock of losing our bollocks half so well as he has?"

"Your point being?"

"That Harry is young but not weak. He needs no one's protection, and it is his permission you require in order to woo him. Still, getting on better terms with his friends would be advisable, for he has always been a loyal young man, and such as Ron, Hermione, and Remus will always be a part of his life—a part of your life, should you elect to make one with Harry."

"I think you're assuming too much."

"I don't," Portrait Albus replied merrily, "and now I think I really must allow the others to enter, for this is Minerva's office now, and she did send them here. But Severus?"

"Yes?"

"Try to see this situation in light of the splendid opportunity it is, and deal fairly with Harry and yourself. Treat Harry well. . . . If you do not, I will know."

Portrait Albus' words were a warning, but before Severus could respond to them, the handle of the door began to turn. Quickly, he spun his Time Turner on its chain and returned to Spinner's End where the sounds of buzzing could be heard on the other side of the door to his loo.

"Are you quite finished admiring yourself, Mr. Severus Sebastian Snape?"

He opened the door and glowered at Laura Lilac Liltington—and the noisome pixies clinging to her hair. "What now?"

"Why, now it's time for you to be off to the meeting point, while I see to it that Miss Harry James Potter is made ready. You understand the directions, do you? and you have your gift?"

"Yes and yes, though I do not understand why I should be gifting Potter with anything other than my company. He—she—is the courter, after all."

"Don't be difficult, dear. You know very well what you're about, I'm sure."

No, I don't, Severus thought, approaching the shelf upon which his decanter sat and preparing to pour himself a drink.

"None of that," Liltington insisted, "or I'll charm you to be ill if you ever look at spirits again. You need feeding up, and whisky will only ruin your appetite."

"Madam, I assure you that—"

"Is this not your signature under the addendum to the contract drawn up between the Misters Weasley and Mr. Rubeus Hagrid on Miss Harry James Potter's behalf," Liltington said, holding up a conjured scroll as a puff of purple smoke dissipated and continuing, "to the effect that you, Mr. Severus Sebastian Snape, desire to see a match made between yourself and the courter, making you a _secondary_ courter and Miss Harry James Potter, in fact, a secondary _courtee_ , and affirming your agreement to submit to whatever instructions I, Laura Lilac Liltington, the courtship consultant assigned to this case, and also to be regarded as a chaperone pursuant to my duties as a representative of the Love Department of Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes' Courtship Division, should ask of you?"

"It is, but—"

"Further, you are aware, are you not, that having signed the addendum to the primary magical contract, thus creating the _secondary_ magical contract, that you are now bound to an agreement that cannot be broken until your goal is met, or unless the primary courter decides to void the primary contract made on her behalf?"

"Yes, I do, however—"

" _And_ you are no doubt aware that, should you fail to meet _any_ of the obligations and stipulations of _your_ contractual addendum, the assessment of magical penalties upon your head would be. Most. Dear. Indeed—not to mention _immediate_?" Liltington asked sweetly, though she grinned in what could be considered a feral manner at Snape.

It gave the Potions master pause to see the courtship consultant's teeth—purpled with age and quite sharp-looking—and he did not actually need to understand the undercurrent of leprechaunian warning in her tone in order to heed her injunction against the taking of spirits before dinner. He found himself regretting having not read the fine print of the document with which Laura Lilac Liltington had earlier presented him before his "make over." Despite this, he was still his own man, and that made him prone to be fractious.

"So you're saying that if I don't heed your 'advice' that I not have a simple before-dinner drink, I'll be in violation of my agreement?"

"Very good, dear. That's it, exactly."

"And what, _exactly_ , would my penalty be for indulging myself?"

"Above-Grounders—you really are a foolish lot, aren't you?"

"Do answer my question."

Liltington smiled that unnerving grin at Snape again and said, "Let's just say that _everyone_ needs to eat, Mr. Severus Sebastian Snape, and leave it at that."

Snape allowed his hands to slide off of the decanter and placed them at his sides—though he allowed his right one to hover reassuringly near his wand pocket. "Very well. I shan't spoil my appetite."

"Excellent. Now, _have_ you your gift?"

"Yes, in my breast pocket."

"Then be off with you, my dear. Time _is_ short, as I said."

"One thing first, if I may," Snape replied, as he walked to his front door and opened it.

"Yes?"

"Just how _are_ you being paid for your services as the courtship consultant on the primary contract?"

"I'm afraid I do mind your asking that, Mr. Severus Sebastian Snape. Are you stalling, by the way? For I would construe such behavior as a failure by yourself to—"

"I'll just be going, now," Snape said, stepping outside into the welcome, bracing cold and shutting the door relievedly behind himself before Disapparating to the meeting point.

Arriving in a clearing somewhere in the Forbidden Forest, he mused that the entry on leprechauns in _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ , a text that Harry was currently using in her classes, could do with a thorough updating.


	5. Chapter 5

There was a unicorn waiting for Harry as she and Liltington approached the boundary between Hogwarts and the Forbidden Forest. 

"You'll ride the beast to the clearing, dear," the courtship consultant instructed her.

"Didn't you say that you'd be acting as chaperone?"

"I will, but that doesn't mean you need see me, now does it?"

"I suppose not," Harry replied, climbing atop the beast with the unexpected aid of the three pixies. "I feel a bit ridiculous, going in like this."

"Don't, my dear. This evening's theme is 'a fairy-tale meeting', and one does like to set the mood completely."

"If you say so."

"I do. Now then," Liltington said, tapping the unicorn's flank, "be civil, be gracious, and be receptive to happiness, Miss Harry James Potter, and you should enjoy yourself a great deal—oh, and allow Mr. Severus Sebastian Snape to help you from your mount!" she called, as the unicorn cantered off.

True to the leprechaunian lady's words, the evening began to take on a fairy-tale-like air, for the very branches moved themselves out of Harry's path as her steed proceeded down it. Harry even saw fairies twinkling in the leaves to light her way, which, she had to admit, was a romantic touch. She wondered if Snape would appreciate it.

"Probably not," she whispered, as a glow began to rise and brighten ahead of her. That must be the clearing.

The unicorn stopped in front of a great pair of trees with low, thick branches and whinnied. A rustling noise emanated from the other side of the barrier, and then Snape appeared, looking irritated. 

"Damned branches," he muttered, looking up in surprise to see Harry as he half-pushed through the foliage and stopped, his mouth hanging open.

"That bad?" Harry asked, suddenly nervous.

Snape just stared.

~*~

That isn't Harry, he thought, taking in the sight of the almost elfin Potter as she sat astride a magnificent unicorn, its golden horn glinting in the low light of the fairies above, looking delicate and regal in a leaf-green dress of velvet that was covered by an open cloak sitting gently on her shoulders of the same color, though in a heavier velvet. The neckline of her gown was decorated with dark green leaves of ivy shot through with a golden thread of the same kind as was wound through Harry's hair, which itself had been piled atop her head only to fall over the golden diadem formed by the thread in a cascade of gleaming curls and streamers. Her pale skin was tinged with a beguiling pink that owed nothing to artifice, and her eyes gleamed like emeralds.

"You look like a princess out of a fairy-tale," Snape breathed, unable to prevent himself from voicing the thought aloud, but instantly regretting his words. She'll laugh at me. I'd laugh at myself but for—"

"Thank you," Harry said softly, feeling embarrassed but pleased all the same. 

Snape started.

~*~

Harry saw Snape jump, and wondered if she had said something wrong—but only for a moment, for she was transfixed by the picture the Potions master presented.

The boots he was wearing—that were moulded to his legs—drew her eyes to his thighs, and she caught her breath.

Snape's rather fit, isn't he? 

She had known that his legs had _felt_ powerful, but she had not had the benefit of seeing them in such tight trousers, his muscles outlined, his . . . .

Oh. My God, Harry thought, lifting her gaze from Snape's trousers to his eyes before he caught her staring at other parts of his body, also dressed to advantage. Not that he needs the help, she mused, blushing and smiling down at him, at his hair, which she could see was long and luxuriant and captured by a leather thread. Oh, wow. That can't be Snape. Snape's not . . . . "Handsome."

"Wh—what?"

"You look . . . handsome," Harry said hesitantly, hoping that the wizard would not take offense at the compliment, and feeling a bit smug when he flushed slightly.

"The leprechaun probable foisted a glamour upon me."

"Don't say that."

"Why not? It has to be true for you to think—"

"Snape, are you going to help me down or not?"

"What? Oh. Yes, of course," he said, approaching Harry and reaching out his arms to her.

Harry began to lean down into them and then pulled away, snapping the reins and urging her mount backward.

"What are you doing?"

"The unicorn, you can't approach him or—oh," Harry said, as she realized that Snape was already quite near the beast, and it had not balked. _Oh_ , she thought, completely stunned as she realized what that meant, but recovering as a fit of pique struck her. "And you damned _me_ for it!"

"For what? Potter, I have no intention of—oh." Shit. Damn. Bollocks. Hell! he thought in mortification, stepping backward and glaring.

  
**The Enchantment, Part 5** , by [ak_alterego](http://ak-alterego.livejournal.com/profile)  
(Gifted to me in 2006, this artwork is solely for my own use.)

"Is there a problem?" a familiar voice called from somewhere nearby.

"He's a virgin!" Harry exclaimed.

A rustling of branches occurred, and then Laura Lilac Liltington stepped onto the path in between Harry and Snape.

"What of it?" the courtship consultant demanded, looking vexed. "Do you think I would have put you on a unicorn had I not been aware of that fact?"

"But," Harry said, watching with near-amusement as Snape's complexion almost purpled.

"'But' nothing," Liltington said in exasperation, as she tugged once on Harry's dress. "This is all wrong. You'll ruin my Fairy Tale Mood Philter. Do you know how long it takes to prepare such a concoction for such a large space? Have you any idea the _variables_ one has to consider? Begin again!" she ordered, turning to Snape. "You compliment Miss Harry James Potter—you did quite well, before—and you," she said, turning to gaze up at Harry, "thank him and hold your tongue. Really!" she exclaimed, muttering darkly about "Above-Grounder nonsense" as she waded back through the branches.

"I'm sorry," Harry murmured, not meeting Snape's eyes. "I just assumed—"

"The reports of Death Eater orgies were greatly exagger—"

"No, _no_ , no!" callled Liltington. "Compliments first, and _no_ mention of unpleasant topics!"

"You look like a princess out of a fairy-tale," Snape repeated dutifully.

And very quickly, too, Harry noted, reassured that Snape found found Liltington as intimidating as she did. "And you look quite handsome," she told him, leaning down into his arms and allowing herself to slide into them.

They both drew in deep breaths as their bodies came into contact.

"You mean that, don't you?" Snape asked.

"Of course I do. I wouldn't lie about something so important."

Snape smirked at Harry's emphaticism. Perhaps it's due to the philter. "I'll have to remember that," he told her, turning so that he could offer Harry his arm.

She took it, the unicorn moved off, and the barricade of branches rose as the clearing came into view.

"Merlin! It didn't look like this before," Snape said.

"Woah," Harry said, taking in the view of a pavilion of rich red and green silk. 

The great tent was furnished with pillows in the same fabric that were piled around a long wide low table upon which was set burnished covered platters from which emanated delicious scents.

Harry's stomach clenched in appreciative hunger.

As she and Snape stepped into the pavilion and he helped her to her seat, the ethereal strains of some sort of wind music enveloped them.

"What sort of instrument is that?"

"I believe," Snape replied, sitting down, "that we are hearing Æolian harps."

"What are they, then?"

"Stringed instruments played by the wind, thought to have been the instruments of Aeolus, the—."

"The Keeper of the Winds. Yeah, you great show off, I know that, but there _isn't_ a breeze."

"No, and the air is quite warm, or hadn't you noticed?"

Harry pushed her cloak off of her shoulders and said tartly, "I didn't notice the atmospheric charm. I was too busy noticing your being able to approach the unicorn."

"Ahem!"

"Sorry," Harry said, in the general direction of Liltington's voice, though not to Snape, "but it is a bit of a surprise," she continued, turning to look at the wizard. "I mean, you were an arse about _my_ being an 'innocent'."

"Just because I've never indulged in . . . technical relations does not make me an innocent."

"'Technical relations'?" Harry asked, smirking.

Snape sighed. "Potter, I was always rather too busy to form attachments. What . . . experience I've had was—"

"Wait," Harry said, laying one hand on Snape's arm. "You don't have to say anything. I'm sorry for being a prat. I just assumed that you would know everything. You certainly seemed to know what you were doing the other night."

In spite of himself, Snape smiled. "Oh, I know very well what to do," he told her, leaning down as if he might kiss Harry.

Harry found herself leaning up.

And then a puff of purple smoke appeared between them as Liltington materialized.

"Wouldn't you like to sample the delicacies I've provided for you, dears?"

"Didn't you say that you weren't going to interfere?"

"No, Miss Harry James Potter. That is not what I said. Now then, dinner," she insisted, before disappearing again.

"Meddlesome woman," Snape muttered, as he and Harry settled back into their cushions and plates began to fly about.

When the dishes were laden with food, they came to rest on the little table before the diners, and Harry and Snape set to without further comment.

After awhile, Harry whispered, "I don't recognize the meat. Do you?"

"It tastes like chicken," Snape answered her in an equally low tone. "Do you not like it?"

"Oh, it's delicious. I just wish that I could identify it—you know how leprechauns are about their meat."

Snape straightened and set down his fork, glancing at his plate in suspicion. "No, not exactly. What do you mean?"

"Don't look so concerned. I've been through the contract, and there's a stipulation as to foodstuffs—Liltington may only serve 'that which is fit for decent Above-Grounder's to eat, according to their traditions'."

" _You_ read the contract?"

"Of _course_ I read the contract," Harry said, after swallowing another sauce-laden morsel. "What kind of a fool do you take me for?"

"I did not mean to imply that you were a fool, but why _feel_ concerned if you've read the contract? Did you sign it?"

Harry snorted. "No, I didn't have to—'the Misters Weasley' and Hagrid took care of that for me, giving me the option of rejecting any part of it—it's just that leprechauns will eat the flesh of almost anything, and who knows what their understanding of 'the traditions' of 'Above-Grounders' might be?"

"'Almost anything'?" 

"Pretty much, yeah," Harry said, reaching down to scratch herself and finding that her arm would not move lower than her waist. "What the"—hell! It must be that philter thing, she thought, embarrassed once more. "Great. I did agree to everything in the 'Ambience' section."

"I don't understand."

"Uh, never mind. I'm just a bit hot and I was . . . going to lift my hem a bit, but—"

"That wouldn't be lady-like."

"Don't smirk."

"Do continue."

"About?"

"You were regaling me with your vast knowledge of all things leprechaunian."

"Right. I wouldn't say I know that much about them, but I do know that it's probably best never to enter into any contracts with them unless you've got a contract specialist from the Department of Mysteries available to look over the invisible print."

Snape inclined his head in curiosity.

"Leprechauns are voracious rules lawyers. They go out of their way to entrap people. It's not so "catch-me-and-I'll-take-you-to-my-pot-of-gold" simple with them. If you catch a leprechaun, he or she will insist you sign an agreement to release him or her when the gold is turned over, but, if you're not careful—and who is, thinking about all that gold?—you'll end up spread out in pieces over a long low wide table."

"I've quite lost my appetite," Snape told Harry, rising.

She looked up at him and grinned. "Who doesn't listen, now? I told you, the contract stipulates that—"

"How do you know so much about the bea—beings?"

"Hufflepuff's cup was incorporated into a leprechaunian gold hoard, remember?"

"You said you found it with treasure, as I recall, not what manner of treasure," Snape said, moving to pace before the table.

"Oh, right. I remember now," Harry said, taking a sip of mead from one of the golden goblets on the table.

"What didn't you tell me?"

"Lots, now that you mention it. Look, I didn't know about leprechauns when I found the hoard with Ron and Hermione, but Ron did—at least, a little. We were in this very close cavern full of gold cups, and we'd narrowed them down to four possibles when the 'owner' of the stuff appeared. He told us that if we signed a receipt for his records—he sounded very much like a goblin—he'd tell us which of the goblets was the one we wanted."

"But Mr. Weasley wouldn't allow it?"

"Yeah. Apparently, there are three leprechaun burrows in Ottery St. Catchpole, and Fred and George had taught Ron how to _avoid_ them."

"How odd that those two would be cautious about anything."

"Exactly. Anyway, Ron had the leprechaun agree to a game of Exploding Snap to decide whether or not he would help us. If the leprechaun won, the agreement was that we'd take all four cups and leave 'something golden' in their stead. If we won, we'd leave with the proper cup."

"Obviously, you won."

"Wrong. The leprechaun did."

"But you retrieved the cup."

"Um, yeah, but only after having to slice open Hermione's arm to show the little bugger that she wasn't golden all the way through—and only after Hermione made the cards explode a lot more strongly than usual so that we could get out of the burrow."

"Disgusting trickery!" Liltington called down irately, pushing her head through the branches above Snape and Harry and sputtering as she brushed off the fairies sticking to her hair. "Gross unfairness!"

"No, it wasn't," Harry protested. "We left a piece of Hermione's skin—we had to, in order for the cave wall to unseal itself."

"That's all right, then," Liltington said, appearing mollified as she once again made herself scarce.

"He didn't say how big the golden thing had to be, but you see my point about watching the specifics when it comes to leprechauns."

Snape sat down again and replied, "Indeed. But invisible ink? What about that?" he asked, thinking, There was a great deal of white space on the parchment upon which the addendum was written, and worrying.

"They use it to trick people, of course," Harry said, unconcernedly holding up her plate for more food, which was served by invisible hands. "Are you sure you're not still hungry?"

"Quite."

"Oh. Should I stop eating then?"

"No, of course not."

Harry finished her second helping quickly, and then looked expectantly at Snape, who was studying her closely. "I look like a git, don't I?"

"You look . . . well."

"What kind of compliment is that?" whispered Liltington, who was somewhere behind Snape's head. Turning it, he saw the back curtain of the pavilion shimmer as if someone were passing there, and said, "Very well."

"Oh! I knew it! You did ruin my philter!"

Harry giggled. "Shit. I giggle now."

Moving closer to Harry—and farther away from the curtain—Snape replied, "That is a better fate than to be sealed within a leprechaunian gold hoard, I think."

"Definitely," she agreed, inhaling the scent of that same aftershave she had caught a whiff of the day she had brought Winky to Snape. "Do you make that yourself?" she asked, reaching out without thinking to caress the wizard's cheek.

Snape turned his head into Harry's hand and asked in turn, "What?"

"The scent you're wearing."

"Ah. Yes. I do," he replied, in between placing light kisses on the pads of Harry's fingers, which he had turned his head to do. Catching her outstretched hand up, he brought it toward his mouth and pressed his lips into her palm.

Harry was sure she would melt into the cushions and leaned back.

Snape's arm was suddenly behind her and he was leaning over her and their mouths were seeking each other's—and then there was a great deal of perfumed purple smoke between them as Liltington appeared to push them apart.

"It's time for gifts. You'll surely wish to digest your meal before having _dessert_."

"Damn it!" Harry exclaimed, rising from the pillows and stalking off the platform upon which they were scattered, gesturing for the courtship consultant to follow her. "Excuse us for a moment?" she asked Snape, before stalking out of the pavilion and toward the edge of the clearing.

"What is it, Miss Harry James Potter? Is all not to your liking?"

"Why are you constantly interrupting? I thought the whole point of this was for me to—"

"You _said_ that your goal as regards to Mr. Severus Sebastian Snape had expanded, isn't that right?"

Bending down to whisper into Liltington's ear, Harry hissed, "But I still need to sleep with him!"

Liltington pulled back in amazement. "You wish to sleep with him? Now?"

"Uh," Harry said, hesitating to look over her shoulder at Snape, who, philter-prepared ground or no, looked very appetizing indeed as he sat brooding on the pillows, and then continued, "hell _yes_ , I wish to sleep with him."

"You're a very odd sort of person in your tastes."

"Hey! What happened to your compliments only policy?"

"It hasn't changed. Oh, very well. I suppose you can give your presents after you get some kip," the leprechaun said. "Go back over there at once."

Harry did as she was told, only pausing to consider her courtship consultant's use of the term 'kip' as she was lowering herself into the pile of pillows next to Snape, who had lain back and was holding out his arms to her. As soon as she nestled into them, she found herself yawning. 

"Oh, hell," she uttered, as she began to fall asleep. The literal bi—

~*~

"—nt!" Harry exclaimed, as she awoke to the music of the Æolian harps and Snape's light snoring. 

She was still snuggled under his arm, but he had shifted so that one of his legs was wrapped around her body and holding her close to him.

This is nice, she thought, unwilling to break the moment. Shifting a bit, she succeeded in unwittingly pressing her body more firmly against the wizard's—and the unmistakable length of his rigid cock made itself felt against her belly.

"Oh!" I wonder what that would feel like inside of me—inside of me _properly_? No, perhaps I don't.

It was one thing to consider shagging a man of Snape's considerable size as a witch, but what it would be like to have such a prick inside her arse, she did not dare contemplate. In her self-experimentation, _he_ had never tried any toy as generous.

"Harry?" Snape murmured, thrusting his hips forward a bit.

She whimpered in frustration.

Snape took the sound as distress and pushed himself away from Harry. "Forgive me."

"No."

"What?"

"No, I mean, you didn't have to—I liked it."

"You did?"

"You're just, uh, a bit bigger than I'm used to, is all."

Snape sat up and looked at Harry in astonished consternation. "What do you mean by that? You said you were a virgin."

"I am," Harry retorted, out of sorts but unsure as to why, "but that doesn't mean I'm an innocent, either," she said, and was pleased to see two spots of color appear on Snape's cheeks. "Ha! You really don't know everything, do you?"

"You have apparently been more . . . adventurous than have I," he told her, his tone as stiff as his prick.

Harry giggled.

Snape snorted.

"I could demonstrate."

"Cheeky brat—wait. What? Could you? I mean, would you?" he asked, deliberately lowering his voice to a seductive pitch.

That melting feeling made itself known to Harry again. "I . . . I don't think we're supposed to . . . you know," she said, trying very hard not to blush as she said it.

"Wizard or witch, I like it when you flush like that, Potter . . . Harry," Snape said, reaching out to cup her chin with one hand and leaning down to kiss her. 

This time, no protest was made by their courtship consultant.

Harry's tongue tasted like mead and cream and berries to Snape as he thrust his own against it, teasing his way deeper into her mouth and delighting to feel the witch fight for dominance of the kiss. It was easy enough to give way to her own explorations within his mouth, and the two of them remained locked in an embrace of dancing tongues for some time before the unwelcome noise of the harps once again intruded upon Snape's senses and he pulled away.

Harry remained in position—her eyes closed, her breathing shallow, her face upturned, until Snape could not stand another moment of being apart from her.

It was then that Liltington returned.

"Lovely! Just lovely, my dears."

"What?" Harry asked in confusion, as if just waking from a dream.

"You're both behaving exactly as you ought, and I couldn't be more proud, but you've slept almost the entire night through, and you've yet to give each other your gifts."

"You . . . have a gift for me?" Harry asked Snape.

"I do."

"But I thought—"

Liltington coughed none too delicately. "Is that anyway to go on? Allow him to give it to you, Miss Harry James Potter."

Snape was relieved. He had no intention of Harry finding out that _he_ was also courting _her_ so soon—if at all—for he still did not truly believe that she would welcome his attentions.

"Go on, man!"

"Would you leave us alone—please?" Snape demanded.

"As you wish," Liltington said simply, and puffed off.

There was less smoke this time.

"Good for you," Harry praised him.

I've no doubt that you would be. "Well then," he said, reaching into his breast pocket and retrieving the envelope, "here you are—with my compliments," he added, in an attempt to be gallant.

He knew the phrase from having read the confiscated romance novels of students, which he flattered himself that he had read to relieve the boredom of 'babysitting' brats during their detentions when he had no work to mark. He would have categorically denied finding any interest in the amorous interactions between—and sometimes, among—the characters, had anyone ever discovered that he read such drivel. Although he was currently harboring a suspicion that Liltington's pixies had been through his things during his fittings because the outfit in which he was attired bore a very great resemblance to what the heroes usually wore in the books he had taken from Padma Patil over the years. But he pushed that worry aside as he watched Harry's slender fingers remove the envelope from his hands, and again wondered what was in it.

Laura Lilac Liltington had not told him.

Harry smiled as she carefully opened the envelope, and held her breath as she removed the stiff card of parchment from within it. Written upon the card in a bold and flowing script, was "Mr. Harry James Potter Snape," and nothing more.

She gasped, and the card fluttered into her lap.

"What is it?" Snape asked, concerned. He reached for the card, turned it over and then over again, and demanded, "Liltington! What is the meaning of this? The card is blank!"

"Only to you," came his answer. "The gift is for Miss Harry James Potter, you see, and only she can see it, therefore. That is the way of the given gift when it is yet ungiven."

"You're not making any sense," Snape snapped, looking at Harry. "Is she making any sense?" he asked, taking note of how stunned the witch appeared. "Merlin, forgive me. What is on the card? What do you see?"

The future, Harry thought. It's my future if I want it. Oh. Hell. "I . . . I don't think she wants me to say." How can Snape be my future? she wondered, laughing to keep from trembling. "This is . . . one hell of . . . a philter."

"Damnation, I _want_ to know what it says."

Harry stilled herself with an effort and replied, "It's all right, Severus," pausing for a moment to make sure it was agreeable to the wizard that she use his name. When he did not protest, she continued, "You'll . . . you'll know when it's time. I promise—and thank you."

The Potions master saw the half-formed tears glistening in Harry's eyes and drew in a breath. Very few people called him by his given name, and he, himself, did not even think of himself as anything other than 'Snape," but looking into Harry's eyes and hearing her voice in his mind—calling him 'Severus'—he decided that it was a fine name, _his_ name, and he would make use of it in future.

Well, Severus, are you going to open the gift or not? he asked himself, transfixed by the expression in Harry's eyes. 

Suddenly, he did not give a damn _what_ was on the card. No one had ever looked at him with such . . . tenderness before. He decided that he liked that, as well.

Swallowing down his nerves, he responded, "You're very welcome. I'm glad my mysterious gift has pleased you."

"My turn, I think," Harry told him then.

"Is it?"

"Yes."

"Well?"

"Oh! Um, just a moment," Harry told Severus, as she turned and looked through the pockets of her cloak. "Here we are," she said, as she pulled out a tiny box and her wand. Tapping the box with her wand, she enlarged it until it was the right size, and then handed her present to Severus, saying, "I hope you like it."

"I'm certain that I will," Severus replied, pulling free the Slytherin-green ribbon from the smoky paper wrapped around his present, and pushing the paper aside to reveal a leather-bound book. 

It was clearly a tome of great age, he saw, but when he read its title, he temporarily lost his ability to breathe.

Harry was immediately concerned by his reaction. "Oh God, what is it?"

The book's title was _Potions for Brewing to Encourage Healthy Pregnancy in Wizards_.

Severus' hands tightened upon the book as he looked at Harry in shock. "Gods, its—"

"Bad?"

"Can't you see the title?" No, of course she can't. The gift is 'yet ungiven'. "It's _good_ , Harry, very good, indeed." Completely unexpected—I never dared hope . . . . "I like it, Harry, I assure you of that—although I'm as surprised as you were when you opened your gift."

Both of them blushed at his words, but neither of them found that they minded doing so.

High above them in the trees came the sound of gleeful leprechaunian giggling; Harry and Severus, however, were far too immersed in their own thoughts—and each other's gazes—to pay Laura Lilac Liltington any heed.

The date, the courtship consultant decided, was a high success.

"But then," the lady whispered to Twee, Twaa, and Twuu, "my fifth cousin twice removed—dear Filius—did say that his portrait friend told him it would be."


	6. Chapter 6

"And just when were you going to tell me about this?" Madam Pomfrey demanded, shoving Harry behind a curtain and following her.

"It was a bit of a shock, Poppy, and I have been busy."

"If you don't mind my saying so, you don't seem at all shocked to me," the nurse said, running her wand over her charge.

"I've had some time."

"You've had since _Friday_ ," Poppy retorted, stepping back and subjecting Harry to a thorough visual examination, "and it's only Tuesday now. Five days is not sufficient time to recover from the shock of having one's sex changed, yet here you are, looking spectacularly undaunted—getting up to mischief with your new bits, have you been?"

"Poppy!"

"And they say that nineteen-year-old boys are mad about sex. Hmph! Be still and open your mouth."

Harry complied, allowing the nurse to take a swab of her cheek with the tip of her sanitized wand, which began to glow. "What does that mean?"

"That you're as fertile as you're going to be this month. Anti-contraception charms—you understand how to employ them, do you?"

"Madam Pomfrey!"

"What? You're a witch, now, for however long, and it's up to you to consider—"

"But I'm not—"

"—the consequences of your actions. Should you become pregnant, whatever clever spell caused your current state could very well become set forever. Stranger things have happened, and to you, so do be careful."

"What?"

"Do be careful."

"I will be—I mean, I won't—I mean . . . shit."

"Language, Professor. . . . What is it?" Poppy asked, noting how Harry's mouth was working, but no sound was coming from it.

"The . . . the spell."

"Yes?"

"The spell that changed me, it . . . ."

"Merlin's balls! Are you trying to tell me that sexual congress is involved in your un-enchantment?"

"Yeah," Harry replied, too stunned to say anything else as she worried about everything that might go wrong.

"Well, you are in a pickle, aren't you? An anti-contraception charm could interfere with your un-enchantment, but without using one, you could end up pregnant and a witch for at least the duration of your pregnancy. Oh, dear. Oh, damn! You just had to go messing about with Magical Theory, didn't you?"

"Thanks for your support, Poppy. It wasn't my fault."

"Filius is quoted in the _Pro_ —"

"That article was just a cover story," Harry told her, before explaining how she truly ended up as a witch.

"I see. Oh, dear. Well, well, we'll just have to time things correctly. I can tell you when you are at your least unfertile point in the month, and Severus can go about your un-enchanting then."

"All . . . all right."

Poppy sighed. "Harry, are you?"

"Am I, what?"

"Quite all right? You look very pale."

Truth be told, everything had happened so quickly to Harry that she had not stopped to consider her new body. She had just accepted it as the way she was _for the time-being_ , precisely because it was only, she had thought, for the time-being.

And because it was sort of cool, she thought, blushing as she added to herself, and the multiple orgasms from wanking—do girls call it that? I should ask Hermione. No! I definitely shouldn't ask Hermione. What was I thinking? Oh, right. The orgasms—didn't hurt at all, did they? "Oh, God. I could _stay_ this way."

"Would that be so bad? What am I saying? Of course it would be, poor dear. Don't worry. You'll just have to avoid shagging for now—though I daresay you're more than ready to get back to normal."

"I uh, I thought I was."

"It might help you to talk all this out with a professional," Poppy said, sitting down next to Harry and patting her shoulder reassuringly.

"No, I don't think so," Harry replied, thinking, I've already got one of those.

She could not imagine talking things out with Liltington.

"I don't mean _me_. I mean a psychologist."

"The Wizarding world has those?"

"Not as such, but there are adjustors in the Obliviation Unit of the—"

"No! I dealt with those people once after bringing Muggles in for Obliviation after they witnessed a Death Eater attack. They're," not the sort of people I want crawling around in my head, "horrid."

"Fine. No adjustors. But this has been, it must have been, a difficult few days for you. Sorting out your feelings before deciding what to do would be a good idea."

"But I _know_ what I want to do. I want my bollocks back. I'm _not_ a witch, and Severus' card said 'Mr. Harry James Potter Snape', not—oh," Harry said, stopping herself from being even more indiscreet than she had been. Shit.

"Mr. Snape? Mr. Snape, ah. Well. Yes, I _see_."

"Poppy . . . ."

"I'll hex him to the Fourth Great Hell. This is his doing, and it's not right!"

"Poppy, please. It wasn't his fault, either. It was Marcus Gor—it was _my_ fault—"

"Oh, it's your fault, is it, that you come down a woman and, as a side-effect, suddenly want to marry Severus? That's no cure. It's _gross manipulation_."

Harry stood up and turned on Poppy. "It's _not_. I swear. I do," fancy . . . want . . . love? Oh hell, " _like_ the idea of being married—of having a home and a family and—"

"Who would know that better than a wizard who's watched you grow up? I ask you," Poppy said in disgust, "who better than Severus would know just how to secure you?"

"Remus doesn't see it that way."

"Remus Lupin is encouraging you in this folly?" demanded Poppy, rising and going to the fire. "We'll just see about _that_."

Harry watched in dismay as the nurse thrust her head into the fire and called for Remus, and cringed when she began to unleash a diatribe against him for being "stupid and reckless and irresponsible," among other things.

Suddenly, Poppy drew back and Remus stepped out of the fire. He was holding a cup of coffee in one hand and wearing a reasonably un-tattered bathrobe, which, oddly enough, had an embroidered bicuspid decorating the chest pocket. 

He seemed unaffected by the nurse's insults as he said, "Good morning, Madam Pomfrey, Harry. What seems to be the matter?"

"You're the matter! How dare you—"

"She thinks Sev—Snape's manipulating me into marrying him," Harry interrupted.

"Who said anything about your _marrying_ Severus?" Remus asked, his eyes widening.

"No one, not really."

"Harry?" Remus pressed.

"You see?" Poppy asked Harry, looking at Remus' shocked expression. "You were mistaken. He doesn't think it's a good idea, either."

"That isn't what I—would someone please explain to me what the hell is going on?"

"Remus, look," Harry began, flustered and upset, "Severus gave me a gift last night," she continued, pulling out the card and handing it to him.

Taking it, Remus looked at it and turned it over, turning it over again before saying, "It's blank. It's blank! Harry, what do _you_ see written here?"

Suddenly annoyed at the officiousness of Poppy and Remus, Harry retorted, "My future."

"Mrs. Harry Potter, or some such?" asked Remus.

"No, 'Mr.'," Harry and Poppy said as one.

"An ungiven gift," the wizard murmured, "I see."

"Yeah? That's great. May I have that back now?"

"Don't give it to her, Remus."

"Poppy," Remus replied, handing the card back to Harry, "this really is none of our business, but Harry, I think you must understand why we're . . . concerned. I know you fancy Severus, but . . . marriage? To be considering marrying him so soon after your enchantment _is_ a bit suspicious. Surely you see that? When we talked yesterday, I thought you only meant to date him."

"Why bother dating someone you can't see having a future with?"

Remus looked at Poppy, and both of them almost chuckled.

"You're very sweet, dear, but—"

"Right. That's it! I don't want to talk about this anymore. I'm going."

"Harry, wait!" called another masculine voice behind her.

Oh, no. No. Not Ron, Harry thought, turning around just in time to see him step out of the hearth. "You were at Remus'? Listening?"

"Obviously, mate. You lot," Ron said, addressing Poppy and Remus, "get out of here."

"Excuse _me_ , young man, but this is _my_ infirmary."

"And Harry's my best friend, so clear off."

"I'll see you back at the house, Ron," Remus replied, smiling slightly in bemusement as he tossed some Floo powder onto the fire and stepped into it.

"I don't like it. I don't like it, at all," Poppy muttered.

But she left, as well.

"Hi," Harry said nervously.

"They really are nice, you know."

"Damn it, Ron! Stop staring at—"

"I meant Madam Pomfrey and Remus."

"Oh. Sorry."

"It's a sad state of affairs when a man's best mate won't trust him enough to tell him he's lost his bollocks—or that he likes them, in general—or that he fancies some greasy git enough to want to marry him," Ron said, though not rancorously.

"Severus isn't greasy."

"I guess that's good for you, but why didn't you just tell me?"

"I just did."

"Harry, I mean about the your being queer thing! Gods, you think I didn't know you fancied blokes? I slept next to you for over seven years! You're pants at silencing charms, and you talk in your sleep!"

"I do?"

"Yeah, mate. You do."

"But you never said anything—and you're always going on about—"

Ron snorted in disgust. "I kind of figured that you wanted your privacy about the sex stuff—not that you were having it, I might add—but I guess you were too busy or too worried or, maybe, too confused. I don't know—because you didn't tell me."

Harry could not think of how to respond but felt deeply chagrined.

Sighing, Ron continued, "I do know that I'm your friend. Sure, I go on about Snape being a prat. He _is_ a prat. He's never treated you very well. I don't like him—but," Ron said, holding up one hand to prevent Harry's interruption of him, "if he stopped being such an awful git, I might learn to like him. And just because I don't like Snape doesn't mean you that you can't, or that I won't understand if you do."

"So Severus' having to kiss me to—"

"Merlin, Harry! Do you think I'm bloody stupid? I know he's going to have to do a hell of a lot more than just kiss you to break the spell—this isn't a ruddy fairy-tale!—and if you're talking about _marrying_ him, you've got more than snogging in mind, right?"

"Yeah. A lot more," Harry said defiantly, and then wondered why she felt so combative. He understands, you git. He just said— "You understand? You don't mind?"

"Actually, I do. At least, I mind being treated like an idiot by my girlfriend and my best mate—and I have to admit that it does seem like all of this is happening a bit fast. You want to marry him? Really?"

Harry sat down on the cot and sighed. "There's more."

"More?" Ron asked, sitting down next to Harry. "How much more? You're not _pregnant_ , are you?"

"No! No, but . . . I could get pregnant when . . . we break the spell and end up a witch for months—if not forever."

"Oi! That's . . . bad?"

"What do you mean? Of course it's bad! I'm a _wizard_."

"Not from where I'm sitting."

Harry punched Ron in the shoulder. He immediately punched her back.

"Ow!"

"What? You _said_ you were a wizard—except you're not, are you? Shit. I just hit a girl!"

"Prat," Harry replied, rubbing her shoulder.

"I'm really sorry, Harry. This is confusing."

"You think so?"

Ron chuckled. "Right. It's more confusing for you, but you do seem to be taking it all a hell of a lot better than _I_ would be."

"Thanks."

"So, did you wear that dress on your date last night?"

"Yeah."

"How'd it go?"

"Over my hea—oh," Harry said, grinning sheepishly, "the date was . . . well, we slept together."

"But, no bollocks," Ron replied, looking yet more perplexed for a moment until Harry's meaning became clear. "Oh, you mean you _slept_ together," he said, considering her expression. Then he grinned and asked, "He was that boring, was he?"

"Ron! No. It was . . . nice."

"That's glowing praise, isn't it?"

"It was more than nice, actually. I didn't dream the entire time."

Ron thought about that for a moment, remembering well how Harry, in all the years he had known him, rarely passed a night without a bad dream. "I can't believe I'm about to say this, but . . . but Mum said once as how she made Dad agree to just sleep with her for a night back when they had been dating for a few months."

"Why?"

"To try him out for marriage. She figured if she couldn't be comfortable with him just sleeping then he wouldn't make a proper husband."

Harry laughed. "I guess we know how that turned out."

"Let's not dwell on it."

Still chuckling, Harry nodded her head. "I suppose it could have been all the pillows," she said, before telling Ron everything about her date with Severus.

"So you gave him a gift, and he gave you a gift, but neither of you know what each other's gifts were?"

"Yeah. Liltington said it was better to give something charmed to be something Severus would actually want. He seemed pleased enough."

"Aren't you curious?"

"Sure I am, but Liltington also told me that the gift couldn't be something I wouldn't give, so I'm not that worried about it."

"This is a leprechaun you're dealing with, Harry," Ron cautioned.

"I know, but I trust Fred and George—"

"That's stupid."

"—and Hagrid—"

"That's less so—but not by much."

"—and I didn't know what else to do but to agree. _I_ had no idea how to woo Severus."

"You know, it sounds as if Snape's sort of wooing you back, doesn't it?"

"I think he was just doing what he was told, as well. My courtship consultant's kind of hard to ignore."

Ron appeared doubtful, but he did not say anything more about his suspicion. "Getting back to my earlier question: do you want to marry Snape?"

"I don't know," Harry said, turning the card over in her hands and smiling to see her name written out upon it with Snape's attached. "That's . . . a lie. I do know. Yeah, I think I like that idea."

Ron groaned.

"What? You said you under—"

"I can't believe I'm about to say this, either, but here goes. Look, Harry, if you're thinking of marrying Snape because of . . . some need for . . . for security, that would be wrong."

Harry burst into laughter.

"What? It _would_ be. You can't go marrying a bloke just for—why are you laughing?"

"Because here's everyone else worrying about Severus taking advantage of me, and you're worrying about me taking advantage of _him_. That's funny. You know it is."

Ron snorted. "I suppose so. Still, that isn't why you're thinking about it, is it?"

"Maybe a little," Harry admitted, "but I do like him. I've sort of always liked him, I guess. At least, I _wanted_ to when he wasn't being such an arse."

"I know. Pants at silencing charms, remember?"

Harry flushed. "I didn't."

"You did. It was mortifying. I asked Hermione to Obliviate me once, but—"

"You told her what I said in my _sleep_?"

"—she wouldn't because I wouldn't tell her why," Ron finished, smirking at Harry. "I'm your best mate, you suspicious git. Of course I didn't tell Hermione what you said."

"Good."

"But you slept in close quarters to her, as well, so . . . ."

"Shit! What did I say?"

"Standard wet dream stuff—for a poof, at any rate—I've tried to forget it."

Harry would have been more embarrassed, but for the smile on Ron's face; yet she thought she would punch him when he added, "the stuff about Lockhart was the worst."

"I never dreamed of him! It was Hermione who used to—"

" _What_?" Ron demanded, as his freckles were lost in his rapidly reddening face.

"Ha! See how _you_ like it, you lying prat."

"Bastard," Ron muttered. "Some friend you are."

"How's Hermione taking all this, anyway?"

"How else? Calmly. It's maddening, how calm Hermione can be."

"Is she with Remus, too? What were you doing at his place, anyway?"

"Oh, er, well . . . ."

"Ron?"

"Don't be mad. There hasn't been any time to tell you, and—"

Harry stood up. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Ron said, standing up, as well. "Uh, we were asking him to give Hermione away. I asked her to marry me."

"That's . . . that's _great_ , Ron. But why didn't you—"

"I was going to tell you on Saturday, but you never showed up to the Three Broomsticks—and I didn't think I could ask you to be my best man when you were . . . weren't a man anymore."

"I completely forgot about Saturday."

"You had plenty reason to forget. I'm not mad."

Harry offered Ron his hand and said, "Congratulations. When's the wedding?"

"Mum and Mrs. Granger want a spring wedding, but not in April."

April was the month in which Mr. Granger had died of a heart attack two years previously.

"Well," said Harry, "I hope I've got this all sorted out by then so I can be your best man."

"Hell, it doesn't matter to me if you do. You'll always be my best _mate_ , Harry," Ron said, and then he surprised himself by tearing up and pulling the witch into a hug—before both of them jumped back.

"Right. No more hugging until I've lost the breasts."

Ron shuddered. "Agreed."

"And don't you dare fantasize about—"

"Too late," Ron said, grinning mischievously at Harry until she punched him.

This time, he did not punch her back.

"Weird," they both said as one. 

"Right," said Ron. "You'd best be getting to your classes. I'll deal with Madam Pomfrey." And Snape, too.

~*~

"Mr. Weasley," Severus said, "what a singular surprise to find you here, this morning."

"It's ten past noon. Are you going to invite me in?"

Sighing, Severus stepped back, thinking, Best get the histrionics over and done with. Closing the door, he turned to find Weasley holding out a document to him. 

Taking it, he asked, "What's this?"

"That's the addendum you signed. I got it from George. Note the highlighted text where blank space used to be. It's seems like you've agreed to persuade Harry to marry you."

"What business is that of yours?"

"None, really, but if you don't succeed in getting Harry to marry you, I doubt you'll like the penalty," Ron told him, inclining his head at the contract.

Snape scanned the relevant section and read aloud: "'In the event that the secondary courter, Mr. Severus Sebastian Snape, fails in his intent to marry the secondary courtee, Mr. Harry James Potter, in the next month'—she included a time-limit?"

"Keep reading."

"'—he _forfeits his flesh_ to'—"

"'Courtship Consultant Mrs. Laura Lilac Liltington of the Love Department of the Courtship Divsion of Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes'," Ron finished for the other wizard, stepping forward to catch the contract addendum that Snape had allowed to fall from his fingers. "Nasty buggers, leprechauns. I can't believe you didn't read the contract."

"She wants to _eat_ me?"

"Someone didn't pay enough attention during Care of Magical Creatures, it looks like."

"Well, _you_ must be quite pleased with yourself."

"Why do you say that?" Ron asked, feeling quite pleased with himself. "I wouldn't wish such a horrid thing on anyone."

"But you'd make an exception for _me_ , wouldn't you? You've never cared for—"

"You're wrong. I've pretty much always hated you for being such a nasty, bullying prat, but all that is about to change, isn't it?" Ron asked, making himself comfortable on the sofa. "You ought to sit down. You don't look well."

"What are you talking about?"

"You look a bit green, and—"

"Weasley! Why are you here?"

"Oh, sorry. I misunderstood you."

Severus just glared at him.

Best put the git out of his misery. "So, the way I see it, you've got to marry Harry before he gets his bollocks back, but to restore them, you have to shag _her_ —and that could end in pregnancy, which means that—"

"Harry could remain a witch past the contracted deadline. That bitch Liltington's written 'Mr.' here. She's _counting_ on my getting Harry with child. In the next month. Oh, gods."

"It's not that bad, really."

"How can you say that?" Severus demanded. "We've only had the one date!"

"I'll tell you how if you'll answer a question for me."

"What question?"

"What was Harry's gift to you last night? I know it was a book. I want to know the title."

"I . . . don't think I should tell you that."

"You do, and I'll tell you what you gave Harry—in addition to telling you what else I have to say that you might find helpful."

"That's two favors for one."

"I'm a Gryffindor, remember?"

"Your point?"

Ron sighed. He's still a Slytherin, so we've got to do it his way, or he won't go along. "All right. We trade gift information, and you give me your word that you'll be good to Harry in marriage to him as I define it, and I'll help you get married."

"As you define it."

"Yep."

"Define what?"

"A marriage between yourself and Harry."

"And how would you define such a marriage?"

"I'd define a marriage between you and my best mate as a union in which you treated Harry with love, respect, and faith—fidelity, and," Ron said, pausing to think, What was it that Hermione said? Oh, right— "one in which you treated your relationship as 'a partnership'. I don't want you bullying Harry and having your own way all the time. That wouldn't be fair."

"That is a remarkably firm opinion on the subject of marriage for one so young to possess. I take it Miss Granger helped you to develop it?"

"So what? I agree with her."

"You never could do your homework without help."

"Do we have a deal or don't we?"

"Yes," Severus said, shaking Ron's hand on it. "She gave me a book on the use of Potions to ensure the successful pregnancy of wizards," he told him, before the younger wizard could rethink the deal.

"Cor! No wonder Harry doesn't seem to mind being a witch that much! He's half-way there!"

"You said something about respect?"

"Knowing how many children my mum's had, you think I'm being disrespectful?"

"Forgive me. Now, what did I give Harry?"

"Your name," Ron said, grinning at how stunned the Potions master was to hear it. "And there was a 'Mr.' on that card, so you don't have much to worry about, I'd imagine."

"That's easy for you to say. You don't have a wedding to plan."

"Actually, I do."

Severus sat down. More Weasleys—Granger-Weasleys, too, no doubt. 

"So, I suppose we'd better discuss that second date of yours, yeah?"


	7. Chapter 7

As Harry approached her classroom for the second time since becoming a witch, she could hear a murmured conversation taking place in one of the alcoves close to the door. She was late, herself, so she had no plans to tax the students hanging back; she did, however, decide to eavesdrop on them as she caught the thread of what they were saying.

"You mean it's our fault?"

That's Blakeney.

"Yes. _Ours_."

And that's Gordon.

"Well, how the hell does one apologize for—"

"I already tried to, but she wouldn't have it."

" _He_ , Gordon, and what did you mean by 'have'? Never mind. Professor Potter's not going _remain_ transfigured, is he?"

"I don't know. I doubt it, but I still say that we've got to do something to make it up to _her_ , and I've the perfect idea as to how—from the Professor's own lips, I might add, my suggestion comes."

Harry was tempted to interrupt here, but curiosity got the better of her.

"Oh?" asked Blakeney, rightly sounding suspicious.

"ComeintoHogsmeadewithmethisweekend."

"What?"

"I said, come into Hogsmeade with me this weekend."

"The professor didn't tell you we should—" 

"Are you calling me a liar?"

"Not yet."

"Look, Professor Potter suggested— _he_ suggested—that we should . . . try to end our differences over a butterbeer."

That's close enough, Harry thought, smirking.

"You know how he's always going on about 'civil interactions between and among the members of Hogwarts' houses' as being important. We're Seventh Years. I'm Head Boy. You're the captain of Gryffindor's Quidditch team. What we do _matters_ , so I figure if we set a good example—"

"He'd appreciate it. All right—for the good of the school," Blakeney said, sounding smug, "I'll go into Hogsmeade with you this weekend."

Prat, Harry thought, increasing her speed. "Ahem. Gentlemen? It's past time you were in your seats," she said, walking through the door without looking at either Gordon or Blakeney. Stepping up to her podium, she greeted the rest of her students. "Good morning, class. I apologize for being late. Please turn to page one hundred and ten in _Fantastic Beasts_. Today—yes, Peters?"

"That's the section on leprechauns, but we're doing lethifolds."

"We're covering defensive charms against several dangerous creatures in this unit, Peters."

"But leprechauns aren't dangerous."

Another student raised her hand.

"Yes, Dollington?"

"Leprechauns _are_ dangerous."

"How?" demanded Peters.

"Out of turn," Harry warned. "Miss Dollington?"

"Yes, Professor. Leprechauns are omnivorous beings who seek to entrap their uh, their food by getting their prey to sign magical contracts or to agree verbally to imprecise deals. They always rush through any conversation in an effort to keep their objects off-guard, and they sometimes end up eating them when said objects fail to meet their agreements."

"Very good, Dollington," Harry said, as many of the other students whispered to each other in horrified amazement. "That information isn't in your text, so how did you come it?"

"My Mum and Dad honeymooned in Ireland. They took an antiquities tour, and one of the spots they visited was an abandoned leprechaun burrow that turned out not to be so abandoned after all. Their guide, he was, he was eaten, Professor. He tried to negotiate taking the group farther into the burrow, you see."

"That's bloody awful!" someone exclaimed.

"Quite," Harry replied. "Dollington, do you happen to know what sort of arrangement your parents' guide made with the leprechaun?"

"No, Ma—Sir, I don't, but Dad said as how if I should ever encounter a leprechaun, I shouldn't speak to it."

"I think we can all agree that your father's advice was good. Further, I'd add that one should never interfere with a leprechaun's person or gold, and that under no circumstances should one sign a contract with such a being. But let's imagine for a moment that one _has_ been foolish enough to engage a leprechaun in conversation and has become confused as to how to end the discussion, shall we? Today, we're going to consider some repulsion charms that will assist in . . . ."

~*~

Class went well, Harry thought, leaving it and walking toward the balcony at the end of the corridor. Stepping out onto the terrace, she took a deep breath and thought about her date with Severus.

The wizard had seemed a bit disturbed to learn about the darker nature of leprechaunian contracts, and it had made her wonder—once she was far away from Liltington's philtered ground—just why. Ron's thought that Severus might be wooing her back had begun to make sense, especially when she considered how dear the Potions master's gift to her had been.

A future. A partner—perhaps even a family—he offered everything I've always wanted and didn't think I'd live to see myself have, she mused, anymore than he probably thought he would. Severus must have signed something. Damn. There'll be consequences. I'm sure of it.

Harry was so worried about the possibility of "consequences" that—as soon as Severus had returned her to the castle's door and she had gone inside—she had contacted Fred and George and asked them to come to Hogwarts to discuss her contract. Fairy Tale Philter or no, the feelings for Severus she had experienced in the Forbidden Forest had lingered, and she wanted to make sure that she would have all the time she needed in order to put them in perspective.

"Oi! Professor! You around?" one of the twins called then.

"There she is, Fred."

Harry turned to find Fred and George cheerfully striding toward her.

"Morning!"

"Yes," she said, feigning a glower.

"Aw, come on. Hagrid _begged_ us to do something to help you, didn't he, Fred?"

"George. Leprechauns? The Love Department? The Courtship Division? How could you have been so stupid?"

"It's not stupid," Fred protested. "It's made as much money in its first quarter as an entire year of Skiving Snackbox sales!"

"But using leprechauns?"

"Oh, Liltington's our only one—and she's part goblin, though she doesn't look it, like Professor Flitwick."

"How do her bloodlines protect you from—"

"Liltington's signed an agreement with us to provide her services gratis for one year—in exchange for our having saved her life," said Fred.

"How?"

"We can't say," George told her.

"That's a contractual no-no," the wizards said, as one.

"In any case," continued Fred, "we made sure to add language to the effect that she can't harm any kith or kin of ours."

"But Severus' isn't either."

"What?" the twins asked. "Snape signed a contract with Liltington?"

"I think he might have done," Harry said. "I don't suppose you've got a copy—"

"Right here," George said, pulling a scroll from his trouser pocket and unfurling it before scanning its contents. "Uh, oh."

"What?" demanded Fred and Harry.

"How much do you like our old professor, anyway?" asked George.

~*~

That evening, Harry found herself in the Three Broomsticks with Ron, Hermione, Hagrid, Fred, and George, mulling over the pickle of Severus' addendum.

"I don't see how it's a problem," Hermione was saying. "Harry can just void her contract, and Professor Snape's sub-contract won't be binding."

"It isn't that simple now," Fred asserted, "because Harry agreed with Liltington that she wanted to 'expand' upon her 'goal' in terms of wooing Snape. That's such vague language as to confuse matters considerably."

"Well," Ron said, "what does the contract actually say? Harry's part, I mean, about your agreement on her behalf?"

Hagrid coughed. "It's all abou' you getting your bollocks back, inn't?"

"Yeah, but there's language saying that Harry can't void the contract unless 'the object of the un-enchantment, the courtee, Mr. Severus Sebastian Snape, ceases to hold any appeal to the courter, Miss', and so on," George said, looking abashed. "Damn, Harry. I'm sorry."

"Right. It's not like you could just lie about Snape's not holding any appeal for you," Fred said, his expression grim. "It looks like you've got to get married."

"You two should have thought about things like this before making any agreement," Hermione told the twins in irritation. "Harry's had no kind of real courtship of Professor Snape, and nineteen's too young to be getting married!"

"Is it?" Ron asked.

"Oh, I don't mean for _us_."

"But you just said—"

Harry cleared her throat. "Don't start. Things are uncomfortable enough as it is."

"Ron," Hermione whispered, "we've been dating for _ages_."

"It seems to me that Snape wouldn't have given you that gift if he didn't want to, and if what my brother says is true," Fred said, looking at Ron while addressing Harry, "what you gave him means that you're more ready to get married than my future sister-in-law believes, yeah?"

"I _really_ gave Severus a book about male pregnancy?"

"Yeah, mate. You did."

Harry sighed. "This is all happening so fast. I don't even know how wizards get pregnant!"

"I 'spose in the traditional way there, Harry," Hagrid told her, as everyone but Hermione laughed.

"If you lot start talking about 'arse-babies' again, I'm leaving!"

Harry spluttered. " _What_? What kind of tradition are you _talking_ about?"

"Wizard pregnancy is . . . different than regular pregnancy, harder, too," Hermione answered, "and . . . and this entire situation is bizarrely unfair to you!" she exclaimed, reaching for Harry's hand and patting it.

Harry snorted. "Story of my life."

It was just _before_ Harry had spoken that Severus—who had been drinking at the pub since his discovery earlier in the day that Winky had charmed all the alcohol at Spinner's End to water—had seen Harry and her friends. And, having begun to approach their table, he had come close enough to hear the end of their conversation at _precisely_ the moment that Hermione had consoled her friend about the nature of her predicament. He was not so drunk that he failed to puzzle out Hermione's meaning, but was, in fact, too inebriated to hear Harry's response to this consolation as anything other than a rejection of him and his suit.

She—he—Potter doesn't want me, he thought, turning unsteadily and making for the door. She doesn't want my babies, either. Don't blame Potter—him—her for that—ugly brats they'd be, too, crying all the time—mustn't cry. No. Leave. That's right. Get. Out. Of. Here. Go away—far away—too far away to be eaten. Knew this was too good to be true.

"But you know," Harry continued, "Liltington's magic couldn't have made my gift to Severus be something I didn't want to give, and—"

"Nineteen's not too young to be married," Ron interrupted, still annoyed—and worried—about what Hermione had said. "Mum and Dad got married at seventeen."

"There's always a marriage boom after a war," George said, "and a baby one, too. Seamus and Susan already have triplets."

"And Oliver and Angela have little Fred," replied Fred, trying to look pleased but failing.

George punched him. "Get over her already, you git. You had your chance. At least you're a godfather."

Fred murmured something unintelligible.

"Speaking of godfathers," Harry remarked, "could someone please tell me why my de facto one has taken to wearing a bathrobe emblazoned with a tooth?"

Hermione blushed.

Ron grinned.

"Aw, now aint' tha' nice?" Hagrid asked. "Good for your mum an' Remus, Hermione."

"Thank you."

Harry balked. "No one tells me anything!"

"You said yourself you'd been busy, mate," Ron told her, draping an arm around Hermione. "'Sides, we only just worked it out, ourselves."

"I was informed this morning," Hermione said primly, "that Remus has perfect teeth."

"Yeah, and her mum has a sweet sub-basement."

"Ron!"

"What? She does! It was a shelter during one of the Muggle wars. Remus's been living in it."

Everyone laughed.

Harry did so, as well, but listened to her friends' continued ribald chatter with only half an ear, for she was considering several things at once.

It's good to have friends. I'm lucky. I shouldn't worry so much about the contract. Who says I'll get pregnant? And if I do, I guess it _would_ be easier to be pregnant as a witch. 

She shivered a bit at the thought, despite the logic of it, and then found herself wishing Severus were with her.

Winky or no, he's probably brooding over Ron's visit. I don't expect things are any easier for him than they are for me, but all _he_ has are his bad habits and his self-imposed solitude—and things have been very stressful, these past few days. He shouldn't be alone. I should go and invite him to come here. I want him here, she decided.

"Excuse me," Harry said. "I think I'll go see if Severus wants to join us for dinner."

"Well, we are discussing his life, too," Hermione said.

"Yeah," Harry replied, Disapparating without rising from the table.

"Show off," Ron said.

"Impatient," Fred and George replied, leering. 

"Don't look at us like that, Hermione," George added. "If we hadn't've—"

"Got the contract for Hagrid—"

"—on Harry's behalf—"

"Snape and Harry might never have got around to figuring out how they felt about each other."

"Tha's righ'," Hagrid agreed, before suggesting to the others that they not wait for Harry to return to order dinner. "Because I'm that hungry."

None of them noticed the very short, very stout, very purple lady sitting in the corner behind their table, the very short, very stout, very purple lady who was busily polishing a wickedly sharp-looking golden knife and grinning through her lavender-stained teeth at the Misters Weasley and their Above-Grounder kith and kinsman. 

Laura Lilac Liltington, it must be said, again, was a lady of leprechaunian extraction. Gratitude was not a concept much prized by her family's _Irish_ side, and as for the other, well, any Gringott's clerk could be relied upon to explain that, at one time—long before the current "Banking Age"—even _sallow_ skin had been gold enough for any goblin.

"Time is short, my dears," Liltington murmured to the pixies nestled in her hair. "Time is very short, indeed, for one Mr. Severus Sebastian Snape, or I'm not a courtship consultant."

The pixies, independent contractors, all, tittered to think of their forthcoming "Below-Grounder" compensation.

Everyone needed to eat.


	8. Chapter 8

"You don't need one, and I'm not going to serve you," Aberforth Dumbledore insisted, pushing Severus out the door of the Hog's Head and following him. "A bracing walk would be much more the thing."

"Damn it, man! I don't want to walk!"

"But you are walking," Aberforth said, pushing Severus again, "and you wouldn't be walking if you didn't want to do it, now would you be?"

"Wha—?" Severus half-asked, trying to catch his breath. "You're not . . . making . . . any sense, Albus," he said, before spinning on the wizard and demanding, " _stop_ pushing me!"

"Then walk."

Grumbling, Severus did so. After a while, it occurred to him that he did not know to where he was walking, and he had forgotten why he had left the Hog's Head—which had seemed very far away from the Three Broomsticks before Albus had begun to push him through the snow—so he stopped. "I don't know what I'm doing."

"That much is obvious, old man."

"You _said_ you didn't think I was too old for her—him— _Potter_ ," Severus protested, rounding on the other wizard again.

"O, ho! Is that what this is all about, then? I might have known there was a lover's spat at the heart of your drunken state. Idiot."

"Albus—"

" _Aberforth_. Albus is dead. You killed him, remember?"

The cold air having cleared his mind somewhat, Severus was not so insensate that he failed to catch the slight edge to the other man's tone. Not Albus? he asked himself, peering sideways at man next to him. Aberforth? Aber—Albus' brother! he thought in alarm, reaching abruptly for his wand and ending up sprawled in the snow. "Damn it!"

"Easy there, master spy," Aberforth mocked. "I wouldn't want anything to happen to one of Albus' 'favorite people'."

"Get in line," Severus spat, his hands scrabbling in the slush behind himself as they searched for his wand, which he thought he had dropped.

"For what?"

"To kill me. There's a line."

"So you implied. I imagine it's—"

"Long."

"You must be very proud."

"I can't find it!"

"I'm not surprised, given your condition."

"So why don't you kill me, then?" Severus asked, pushing himself up off the ground and glowering at Aberforth.

"Hexing a man to death with his own wand wouldn't be sporting, now would it be?" Aberforth replied, holding up Severus' wand in one hand.

"Then use your own."

"I don't have a wand, you nincompoop. I'm a Squib."

"You're not Albus?"

"Obviously, not. He's dead, remember?"

Severus looked at the sober-faced man before him and considered. "Oh, that's right. I—"

"Killed him, yes—and thank you for that, by the way—it was really quite important to him, as I recall," Aberforth said softly, putting Severus' wand into his trouser pocket and pulling something else out of it. 

Severus watched the man's hand carefully. "I need to go."

"I doubt you'll get far in your condition. Here, eat this," Aberforth said, handing Severus a tiny blue pill.

"Why?"

"It'll sober you up—one of Rosmerta's finest products, it is."

"What is it?" Severus asked, swaying a bit as he stood.

"I told you."

"You could tell me _anything_ , man."

"Is that so? Well then, you should know that I think you're a lucky wizard to have three people fighting over you."

"What are you talking about?" Severus asked, snatching the pill from Aberforth and swallowing it before continuing, "no one wants . . . no one . . . ."

"Feeling better are you, Snape?"

"Aberforth. What the hell am I—oh. Lovely."

"Not from where I'm standing, but your lovers obviously disagree. Ask you to choose amongst them, did they?"

"I have no lovers."

"You were just talking about 'her', 'him', and 'Potter'."

"There's just the one Potter."

"Ah, I suppose that's good."

"But he doesn't want me."

"Don't you mean 'she'?"

"I don't know what I mean anymore."

"I suppose that would explain why you were stinking drunk before you arrived at the Hog's Head."

"Yes. . . . No. . . . I don't . . . habit," Severus said, feeling slightly ill as his mind spun a bit on its way toward clarity. "Why are we standing outside?"

"You were about to pick a fight with a hag. I thought it best to move you along before her sisters showed up. I can't abide the mess hags make in a pub fight. Guts don't come easily clean."

Severus carefully brushed himself off and said, "I never did care much for your clientele."

"Hag's gold spends the same as wizard's," Aberforth replied, shrugging. "So, what can I do for you, Snape?"

"You can return my wand to me."

"No."

"I don't need it to hex you."

"True."

"Damn it, Aberforth!"

"Can't."

"What?"

"I can't damn anything. I'm neither a god nor a wizard. Besides, I don't go in much for damning. It's a rather pompous pastime and doesn't do much to fill the moneybags."

Severus felt a bit ridiculous standing in the snow having such a nonsensical conversation with Albus' brother. In fact, it seemed a bit off to him to find Albus' brother as being anything other than monosyllabic, and he found that he did not care for the chatty version of Aberforth.

But that's probably due to this headache, he thought, rubbing his temples as a band of pain shot through them. "The damned pill you gave me isn't working at all," he muttered. "I can't wait for it to, either. I need to go. Give me my wand back."

"Why?"

"Because I want it."

"And I want to know why you stiffed Rosmerta and blew into my place itching to fight with a hag."

"I did? I must have been . . . I was pissed. I'll . . . I'll have to pay Rosmerta another time," Severus said, trying to remember the fight in question and finding himself unable to recall it as the pain in his head increased. "What the hell was in that pill, anyway?"

"You should know that better than I would. You made it."

"What?"

"Haven't you been supplying Rosmerta with her potions and pills?"

"Not for _months_."

"Ah, that might explain why the pill's not working as quickly as it ought to be. Forgive me, do. I was trying to be helpful."

Severus' only evidence of Aberforth's "help" was the continued throbbing of his head; it made him long to lie down and stop trying to think, but he fought that desire. I'm not supposed to be here. I'm supposed to be— "Wait. How do you know that I failed to pay my shot?"

"You've seen the little glass ball behind the tap, have you?"

"The witch ball? That's just a decoration."

"No, it's how Rosmerta and I chat. My customers used to stiff me all the time and run down to the Three Broomsticks, and vice versa, so Rosmerta and I worked out an alert system of sorts. I knew you were coming before you arrived."

"I . . . see," Severus replied, wondering again what he was doing standing in the snow and talking to Aberforth when he knew there was something else he should be doing. What _is_ it?

"I didn't expect you to argue with Old Maud, though. That was abominably stupid."

"I don't remember arguing with any hag." I don't remember actually entering the Hog's Head, either, Severus thought, shaking his head—but that only made the pain worse.

"Yes, the pills are definitely losing their potency. You really should do Rosmerta up another batch of them. You're a professional man, aren't you? Shouldn't you be behaving like one?"

Closing his eyes against the increasingly blinding glare of the snow, Severus replied, "I don't do that sort of thing anymore."

"No? Too busy messing about with former students, are you?"

"I'm not—"

"Of course you are. You've been interfering in that one's life for some time, too—sneaking off into the forest to tutor him like you did—why didn't you press your advantage, _then_?"

Severus caught his breath and squinted at Aberforth in suspicion. "What business of that is yours—and how do you know about it?"

"My brother told me."

That's a _lie_ , Severus thought, stiffening in alarm. Albus was dead before I began teaching Harry Occlumency again, and no one knows about it. _Harry_ doesn't even know it was me because I used a glamour. "Albus told you," he said, straightening his stance. 

"And I will admit that it was noble of you to look after the boy, but really, Severus, tricking him as you did? Using a glamour to hide yourself from him—was that quite fair?"

"'Was that quite fair'?" Severus repeated in confusion, for there was no way that a _Squib_ could have penetrated his glamour. 

It suddenly occurred to him that he was being distracted.

"Yes, that is what I want to know. Come, walk with me and clear your head. It will do you good."

Severus found himself compelled to follow Aberforth, and he did so on unsteady feet as the man's order, "Come, walk with me," reverberated in his mind, but slowly, the second half of Aberforth's command began to work on him, and his mind cleared.

He realized that he had never entered the Hog's Head. Aberforth had just appeared.

I don't want to follow Aberforth, he thought, stopping his progress then. His legs twitched, but he was able to force them to remain still. Ah, a low-level compulsion charm, it must be—that was no pill. Was it an unfertilized fairy egg? he wondered. That would explain this pain in my head.

Aberforth turned. "Come with me, Severus. You need to walk."

"I don't."

"No?" the man asked, appearing surprised. "And just what is it that you do feel you need?"

I need to know who you are, Severus thought. I need my wand. "Thank you," he said, in an attempt to buy time, "for helping me. I just need to rest a moment."

"Of course," Aberforth replied, smiling indulgently.

Severus knelt down in the snow and pondered his predicament. He's leading me away, but why? Where am I supposed to be, now? 

"You know, it's not safe to pause on these paths for long—all sorts of creatures might be watching us."

"True. I shall just catch my breath." Yes, there are creatures watching, creatures who can see through glamours because that is how they _hunt_ , Severus thought, somewhat alarmed. They see through glamours and they . . . _they can take them on_ , as well. Glancing up at Aberforth, his heart began to hammer. What are you? 

The other man merely continued to smile at him. It was then that Severus remembered where he was supposed to be and when.

And I expect I haven't much time now to get there. Damn. "You'd . . . you'd better turn away for a moment. I think I may be ill."

"Oh. Oh, dear. Well, certainly."

As soon as Aberforth's eyes were off of him, Severus rose and began to run back down the path, but the other man was on him in an instant.

"What, going so soon, and without your wand?"

"Sod my wand! Let me go!"

Aberforth laughed and released Severus.

"What's so damn funny?"

"You are—attempting to run away from a man who's only trying to help you—I should be offended, you know. Come, Severus, stop being difficult. Ask me for my help. You know you want to ask me for my help."

Idiot. You broke the compulsion charm, yourself, Severus thought, wondering if Aberforth could possibly be acting under Imperius. Stranger things have happened, and to me, of late. Pushing these thoughts aside, he decided to play along in hopes of retrieving his wand. "Perhaps I do, but why would you desire to help me?"

"Does that matter?"

"Now who's being difficult. If you truly wish to help me, then see me back to Hogsmeade. I have an appointment to keep."

"Oh? With whom?"

"With a leprechaun," Severus replied, testing a theory.

"Ah—you wouldn't happen to mean Mrs. Liltington, would you?"

Shit. I think I'm right. "You know of her?"

"She's a good customer of mine—but never tell me you've gone and made an agreement with _her_."

"Fine. I won't," Severus retorted, swaying a bit and clutching his head. I'm not going to make it, he thought, cursing himself for having indulged in so much whisky.

His meeting with Ron Weasley had discomfitted him greatly.

"Speaking as a publican, I think it may be possible that you drink too much."

Severus snorted. Yes, you're a publican, and I'm a fool. Why did I ever agree to—

"Is that why you went and made an agreement with Mrs. Liltington?"

"Why should I tell you anything?"

"Because it might help you to talk things out with someone, and I do owe you a debt of gratitude for killing my brother. It's not like I could have done it, and Albus suffered greatly toward the end."

"You're not," Severus said, pausing as he decided how to proceed, "angry with me?"

"Snape, if I were angry with you for killing Albus, angry enough to kill you for it, as sorry as you've allowed yourself to become, the thing would easily be done. Now then, aren't you going to ask me for help?" Aberforth asked, his eyes inscrutable and hazy. 

Almost mesmerizing, Severus thought, looking away to scan the path down which the other man had so recently pushed him and feigning indecisiveness. The confirmation of his suspicions was there in the snow, or rather, not, for he saw clearly that there was only one set of footprints coming up the path.

My footprints. Of course. Liltington cannot interfere directly with me, but there is nothing in my contract with her that precludes her "assistants" from doing so.

"Well, aren't you going to ask for my help? I assure you that I've plenty of time to give it."

Of course you do. "I'll . . . I'll ask you a question if you return my wand to me—I'm cold and want a warming charm," Severus replied, keeping his voice steady.

"Fair enough deal, that," "Aberforth" replied, handing over the wand. "So, what is it that you were going to ask me?"

Severus took it and leveled it at the figure of Albus' brother and asked, "She's going to be very disappointed in you, isn't she? What will you be eating for dinner, now?"

"What kind of question is _that_? You're _supposed_ to ask me for help."

Before Severus could reply, the Hogsmeade Clock Tower began to chime, and the thing before him smiled to reveal sharply pointed pixie teeth as "he" broke apart.

"Well," three voices said, "I suppose we have your answer now, don't we?"

Stupid forest pixies. "And I have my wand."

~*~

Winky had just pulled a small roast of pork out of the oven when she heard the knocking. 

"Sir is home!" she cried, as she materialized in front of the door to Spinner's End and threw it open.

"Is he?" Harry asked. "Great. May I—hey, what smells so good?"

"It is Harry Potter," the house elf said, her ears dropping a bit as the witch entered.

"Aren't you happy to see me?"

"Winky is glad, and you is smelling Sir's dinner, but Sir is not smelling it because Sir is not here."

"He's not? Oh, you've been waiting for him, then?"

Winky nodded.

"Where's Severus gone?"

"Winky is not knowing that, Harry Potter."

"How long has he been gone?"

"Sir is being gone since Ronald Weasley left, and Sir discovered his Scotch is being water now," Winky informed Harry, her face crumpling in what could have been called fear.

"You charmed Severus' whisky to water?"

"Winky is sorry, but Sir is drinking too much to be hungry, and Winky is thinking it is not right, and—"

"That's okay, Winky, really."

"Sir is not thinking it is okay."

"I suppose not," Harry said. He is a creature of habit, isn't he? she thought, and then she realized something. "Winky, you're _sober_."

"Winky is a proper house elf again. Of _course_ Winky is sober."

Harry raised her eyebrows in surprise. "It was that easy for you?"

"Winky hates whisky," the house elf replied, as if this explained everything.

"Still . . . ."

"And Winky is knowing that Sir isn't liking her to be drunk, so Winky is not getting herself drunk anymore. But Winky is thinking that Sir doesn't like her to help _him_ not be drunk anymore, Harry Potter, and that he is maybe not coming back to Spinner's End because he is angry."

Before Harry could think of how to reply, someone else knocked on the door, but Winky made no move to answer it. Instead, she went rigid, her nose twitching, and spat, "Bah! It is the stinking magic!"

"The what?" Harry asked, thinking how funny it was that the house elf had picked up one of Severus' phrases so soon.

"The stinking magic. Winky has been smelling it on Sir ever since the purple woman is coming here and he is being 'subject to contractual obligations'!"

It did not surprise Harry to discover that house elves could smell magic, but she was concerned to discover that Winky thought Severus smelled of _malodorous_ magic. It did not bode well.

"Shouldn't we let her in?"

"No, Harry Potter. Sir is not here to say yes to letting in the purple woman, so Winky is not doing it. Winky hates the purple woman!"

"'The purple woman'," Liltington's irritated voice called through the door, "doesn't care for you, either, you officious little rodent!"

Incensed, Winky exhaled a stream of glittering sparks. 

Harry stepped back. She had never seen a house elf do that before.

"Let me in, damn you! I've an appointment with Mr. Severus Sebastian Snape, and I have no intention of being late for it—or of waiting in the cold for it, either!"

"Your appointment was here, in the house?" Harry asked quietly, for it had just been demonstrated to her that leprechaunian hearing was excellent.

"Of course it was!"

"Don't let her in, Winky."

"Do not be worrying, Harry Potter," Winky said, gathering the floating sparks into a ball and glaring ominously at the door.

"What are you going to do?"

Liltington called smugly through the walls, "There's nothing either of you _can_ do!"

"Harry Potter should please be moving behind Winky now," the house elf told her, advancing on the door and calling, "You is to be going away at once, purple woman!"

Harry moved to stand behind Winky and drew her wand.

"I will do no such thing, you ill-tempered rat! I have a scheduled appointment which I mean to keep, even if Mr. Severus Sebastian Snape does not!"

The knob of the door began to rattle. It was then that Winky hurled her sparks ball, which struck the door and caused a corruscation of colors to spread over it, a corruscation of colors that began to be absorbed into the wood and then spread out over the walls.

Harry recognized a ward being placed, even though she had never seen the method of placement demonstrated before, while beyond the door, Liltington's sharp yelp of anger could be heard.

"Don't think for a minute you've won!" she yelled.

Inside, the tick-tock-ticking of the clock on Severus' mantle ceased abruptly.

"If he's late for his appointment, he is in violation of his contract!"

Winky giggled.

"What's so funny?" 

"Harry Potter should be looking at the stopped clock."

Harry turned and did so. The hands were frozen at six fifty.

"His appointment was in this house at seven?"

Winky grinned. "It is not being seven in this house until Sir is at home again, Harry Potter," the house elf said, looking tremendously pleased with herself. "Winky is a good house elf."

Flabbergasted, Harry thought, Hell yes, you're a good house elf! "But, I'm not stuck in here at six fifty, am I?"

Liltington's livid face appeared in the front window then. "What an accomplished piece of vermin you are—but you can't stop time _beyond_ these walls, and Mr. Severus Sebastian Snape's deadline is rapidly approaching. It's but a bit over three weeks before dinner!" she spat, before disappearing in a cloud of purple smoke.

"Shit," Harry said. "What does she know that we don't?"

"I is telling you, isn't I? Sir isn't coming back," Winky said, her ears drooping.

"It looks like 'Sir' was planning to go _somewhere_ ," Harry remarked, looking about the room at several open book cartons.

"Oh no, Harry Potter. Sir is asking Winky to fetch things from his hut."

"His what?"

"It is his thinking place and full of more dusty books!"

Harry smirked at how disgusted Winky sounded. "Dusting shouldn't be so hard for 'a proper house elf'," she said, picking up one of the volumes and studying it.

"Winky is knowing her duty, Harry Potter," the house elf snapped, snatching up another book and shelving it.

Harry sighed. Well, I suppose I'll just have to wait, she thought, rummaging through the boxes in search of something decent to read. Because _A Treatise on the Use of Mushroom Spores as Stabilizing Agents in Potions_ just won't do.

~*~

Hours later, it looked as if Winky had been correct about Severus not returning, and a worried Harry Apparated back to the Three Broomsticks to discover that Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, and Hagrid had only just ordered dinner.

"That was fast," Ron said. "Where's Snape?"

"It wasn't fast at all, and I don't know—but he had an appointment with Liltington, which he missed, and now—"

"Wait a moment," Hermione said, interrupting Harry as she snatched up the contract and scanned it. "It's written here in the 'Verbal Agreement' section that Professor Snape is supposed to meet the courtship consultant at Spinner's End at seven, which is in ten minutes. There, you see? He has time. I'm sure he'll make it, so there's nothing to worry about."

"Yes, there is," Harry told her, and then she explained.

"House elves can stop time?" Ron asked, at the same moment that Fred and George exclaimed as one, "Wicked!"

Harry glanced at the clock above the tap. Five to seven. Where is he? "But it _is_ —don't you get it? Liltington knows something about Severus that we don't," Harry said, panicking. "She thinks he's gone, and so does Winky. If he misses his appointment—"

"I'm not going to miss anything, Potter," Severus interrupted, slamming down a cage onto the table.

George snatched up the cage. "Are these Liltington's?"

"They were before they tried to—"

"Don't shake 'em abou' like tha'," Hagrid said to George, taking the cage from him.

"—waylay me," Severus completed, looking to Harry. "A word with you, please? I haven't much time."

"Um, you do, actually. Winky's frozen it at Spinner's End, and Liltington knows."

"Then _several_ words, I should think," the wizard retorted, turning on his heel and striding off through the crowd.

"Well, so much for the handkerchief moment," Harry said in relief, as she turned to follow Severus.

This left Hermione having to explain what Harry had meant.

"It's from _Othello_ . . . ."

~*~

"Would you please wait up? Where are you going?" Harry demanded, finding Severus several yards ahead of her once she exited the pub. "Severus, wait!"

He rounded on her. "Tell me the story of your life, Potter—of its myriad unfairnesses and bitter disappointments, and be good enough to tell me also if you list the thought of wedding me amongst them!"

"You want to talk about this here, in the street?"

" _Silencio proximus_!"

"Oh, right. Good thinking, that. What the hell are you going on about?"

"You were just complaining to your friends that—"

"I was just _telling_ my friends that you were missing! I was worried about you, you git. I went to Spinner's End to invite you here, found you gone, and then Liltington showed up. I thought that something had happened to you."

"You were worried about me?"

"Yes. _Why_ is that such a surprise? And where the hell have you _been_?"

"You were going to invite me to dine with you—and your friends?"

"If you don't believe me, you can always—"

Severus did not allow Harry to finish her thought. Instead, he grabbed her and pulled her into a kiss that began hard and rushed in the middle of Hogsmeade but ended tenderly and slowly before his front door.

"Show . . . off," Harry told Severus, pulling away when she realized that he had Apparated. 

"I'd like to show you many things, Harry," Severus replied, brushing back her fringe and kissing her scar.

A thrill of need ran through Harry's body at his words. "Oh, this is . . . this is all so _maddening_ , Severus. I want to get it over with and—"

"And what?" he demanded, pulling away.

"— _shag_ you already!"

"Is that all you want from me, Potter? to be un-enchanted?"

Harry snorted and pressed herself decisively forward into Severus. "Ron told what my gift to you was, you suspicious prat. Would the magic have let me give it to you if I just wanted un-enchantment? I want you—your name, your children—and my bollocks back, damn it!"

"Do you? Just like that? In the space of a few days, suddenly you—"

"It is sudden! Everything is sudden! I mean, everything that happens to me has always been," Harry said, taking a deep breath and letting it out before testing a theory she had developed at Spinner's End. "Sebastian used to say that 'the speed of life's progress must be embraced, or it will run roughshod over you', and I think he was right. At least, it helped to think about things that way, once—I think you know when."

"I do, and did it? Potter, 'Sebastian' is a philosopher with far too much time on his hands to know anything of life's demands. You should not feel compelled to act based on anything that academic may have told you when—"

"Would you just stop it already?"

"Stop what?"

"Pretending. I know who Sebastian is now, Severus. He's you—or he was."

"What?"

"I've been doing a lot of thinking, lately, and I've decided that there is no way you'd've ever trusted anyone else to teach me Occlumency. It always felt a bit weird that Sebastian wouldn't call me Harry when he let me call him by his first name, and—"

"That is hardly evidence enough to—"

"He drank your brand of whisky. He never used his wand. He—you—had the same books!"

"How do you know _that_?"

"I looked at your library while I was waiting for you. A 'philosopher' could have no interest in _A Treatise on the Use of Mushroom Spores as Stabilizing Agents in Potions_."

"I don't see why not."

"Did 'Sebastian' know Professor Dumbledore?"

"No."

"Then why does the inscription on the front inside cover of _Spores_ read, 'For a dear friend on his first year of proper employment'?"

Severus' ears pinked.

"There. I am right. Sebastian was you all along!"

"So what if he was? What does that prove, exactly?"

"That you cared enough about me to have risked your life teaching me how to save mine."

"Albus asked me to protect you at any cost."

"Professor Dumbledore didn't ask you to spend hours listening to me. He didn't ask you to be my friend, Severus, but you were—when you were Sebastian—weren't you? No _wonder_ I felt so comfortable with you when we talked after I brought you Winky."

Severus sighed. "I befriended you under a pretext. Doesn't that offend you?"

"Honestly? No. What offends me is that you disappeared so suddenly. I went looking for Sebastian after the war. I was frantic when all trace of him was gone. Why'd you do that to me?"

"Because there was no other way. You never got on half so well with _me_ , and telling you what I had done would only have made you angry."

"You're probably right—but you helped me—I would have forgiven you eventually."

"I couldn't risk your not doing so," Severus whispered, "because . . . ."

Harry stepped forward. "Because?"

"Because I wanted the memory of your not hating me," Severus admitted.

"Do you think I hate you now?" Harry asked, laying her hands against Severus' chest and gazing into his eyes so that he could see something of what she felt for him, something she was not sure she was ready to admit even to herself.

"You don't hate me."

"No—but I am worried."

"About what?" Severus asked, reaching up to clasp Harry's hands.

"About what might happen when you un-enchant me. You never kissed me when I was a _wizard_. 'Sebastian' didn't either, and I had a terribly obvious crush on him—that's why I thought he, I mean, you, disappeared."

"Bah. I knew I made that damn glamour too strong."

"Git—that's not it at _all_. It was after you saw my uh, dream about Ron during one of our lessons and then told me it was okay to be the way I was that I started fantasizing about Sebastian—about what it would be like to see him without having to worry about Voldemort and fighting and death. I really liked him, Severus. I really liked you."

"You 'really liked' a _persona_ I adopted. I am not that man."

"You are when you don't think anyone will notice."

Severus sighed. "Perhaps."

" _I'm_ still me, even though I look different."

"True. And as charming as I find you now, I'd like to see the return of your bollocks, myself," Severus replied, rubbing Harry's hands. "I found being in such close quarters with you very trying, indeed."

"That's only because you thought I was a brat."

"You are a brat—my brat."

Harry grinned mischievously. "If I'm such a brat, I guess I'll just have to start acting like one and making demands," she said, wrapping her arms about Severus' waist.

"Oh? And what is it you want?"

"To top?" Harry asked, on impulse. "Not all of your books were about Potions—some were very . . . inspiring. I can see the advantages of academics now."

"Don't get ahead of yourself, Potter."

"That's _Harry_ to you, Severus _Sebastian_ Snape—but I suppose you're right."

"I'm shocked to hear you admit any such thing. About what am I right?"

"I can't think about topping _anyone_ without the proper equipment, now can I?"

"If you ever think of anyone but me after we're married, I shall—"

This time, Harry stopped Severus from speaking with a kiss.

"I won't, you know," she said, long moments later. "I _won't_ , Severus. It's all been about you—this entire bloody _wonderful_ mess—I give you my word: you're the only man I want touching me. Ever."

Whatever Severus was going to say then was lost in a choking cloud of purple smoke.

"Then you'd best get yourself inside to six fifty!" Laura Lilac Liltington exclaimed. "A lady could _freeze_ out here listening to the two of you _not_ professing your undying love. Really, how difficult is it a thing to say?"

Harry laughed and held Severus still, rather than allow him to turn on the courtship consultant. "Put your wand away. She's just doing her job."

"'Her job'? She sent her pests to—"

"That's right! I've just been doing my job, and a thankless one it is, too—losing my employees, being tricked by house rats, why I—"

"Have an appointment to keep," Severus replied, impatiently striding toward the door, opening it, and drawing Harry into the house.

Harry shut the door in Liltington's face and said, "We've also got ten minutes," as Winky appeared, the clock on the mantle began to tick again, and the house elf cried, "Sir! Oh, Sir is _home_!"


	9. Chapter 9

"Winky, bring tea," Severus ordered, exactly ten minutes later, as he released a rather pleasingly mussed Harry, opened the door to Mrs. Liltington, and accused, "You. You sent your pixies to try and—"

"Find you. Yes, I did. I was concerned—and that's all you can prove because I've said as much. Now then," the lady said, breezing past the wizard and sitting down on the sofa, "shall we come to the point?"

"Sure," Harry replied, looking at Severus. "Why'd you set up this meeting, anyway?"

"It _was_ to be a private one between Mr. Se—"

"Yes, but the plan has now changed. We didn't actually say that only you and I were to be present, and I would like Harry to remain."

Harry sat down with Severus in the two chairs across from the sofa and waited.

"Oh, very well," Liltington told them.

Winky appeared with tea.

"But I have no desire to speak to you in the presence of your house rat."

"Thank you, Winky. That will be all."

The house elf "popped" out of the room—leaving a shower of bright sparks to cascade over Liltington.

"Showy little thing," she huffed. "Now then, the purpose of this meeting is to discuss your second date, but it seems clear to me that it may not be necessary."

"Ah, but my marrying Harry _is_ necessary if I'm to fulfill my contractual obligations."

Looking annoyed, Liltington said, "Yes, that's true. How good of you not to forget it."

Harry laughed. "I don't see why you're so upset about it. Our getting married means that you'll have another success on your hands—of one sort, anyway. Do you always try to eat your clients?"

The courtship consultant purpled, but she did not reply.

Severus cleared his throat. "Harry and I wish to be married. We will be so, and then I shall un-enchant her on our honeymoon."

"Yes," Liltington said, brightening, "the sex—I mean—your honeymoon."

Harry could see that the lady still believed she had a shot at having Severus for supper. "My contract with you was about getting Severus wooed—it doesn't matter if I do become pregnant after the wooing—you can't touch him if he marries me."

"Damn you for a reader!"

"You can't damn anything," Severus replied. "You're neither a god nor a wizard. Now get out. Our meeting is over."

"Well, I—" 

"You may, of course, attend our wedding to see to it that the event occurs, but afterward, I. Never. Want. To. See. You. Again."

"Ingrate!" Liltington spat, puffing off in more smoke than she had ever left behind.

Coughing, Harry said nervously, "Well, so all that's left is to get married, then."

"So it is," Severus replied, his tone entirely too steady.

Somehow, Harry knew that this meant he was as nervous as she. Oddly enough, she found it quite reassuring, but she was not entirely certain that matters were so simple.

"Severus, I know you don't mind my being a witch, but what if . . . what if I get pregnant when—"

Before she could complete her question, Severus had risen from his chair and knelt before her. "I should have thought of this before," he said, waving away the last lingering traces of Liltington's ire. "Harry James Potter," he said, inserting the correct name in the bit of dialogue that seemed standard in every one his students' romance novels, "would you . . . do me the very great honor of becoming," no, too pompous, "would you make me the," no, not that one—Harry won't believe me if I say 'happiest of men', but . . . "would you," damn it! he thought—worrying that he was losing the moment and his nerve—what should I say?

"Would I?" Harry prompted, her lips twitching in amusement.

"Don't laugh at me, Potter! You try proposing and see how easy it is!"

At once sliding down from her seat to kneel with the wizard on the floor and looking up at him, Harry asked, "Severus Sebastian Snape, do you believe that I wish to marry you?"

"Yes," he answered crossly, "but that's not a proposal."

"Of course it isn't. Contractually, _you_ have to ask _me_."

"Damnation!" exclaimed a leprechaunian voice from just under the window.

Severus threw his arms around Harry and hugged her, hiding his grin in her hair. "Yes brat, I would believe it. I do," he said, pulling away so that he could see Harry's face. She's so happy, he thought, dazedly. I make her happy. "I will make you happy if you marry me. I promise. Say you'll marry me?"

" _Ask_ me, you git, and I will."

Severus arched an amused eyebrow. "Harry, will you marry me?"

"Hell _yes_ , I'll marry you!" she exclaimed, falling upon Severus in her enthusiasm and knocking him to the floor.

Immediately, Severus rolled them over so that he was looking down at Harry, who giggled.

"What?"

"You. You're really worried about my topping, aren't you?"

"I am not," Severus said, blushing.

"Bah," Harry mocked.

"Humbug," Severus replied, leaning down to kiss her.

"Pork roast!" Winky called worriedly from the threshold of the room. "Winky is thinking that Sir would like his dinner now."

Severus and Harry both laughed.

"This is ridiculous," Severus murmured. "My house elf has become our chaperone," he told Harry, as he helped her up from the floor.

"No," she said, "it's not ridiculous."

"What is it, then?"

Harry looked around at all the dustless books, at the little desk in the corner and the slightly shabby, though terribly clean, furniture, and smiled before turning to consider Severus again. "It's home."

~*~

Marcus Gordon fell out of the line with the other students waiting to board the carriages that would take them to the train station and then home for the Yuletide break—leaving Ambrose Blakeney to hold his place—to speak to Professor Potter.

"Ma'am?" he asked.

Harry turned her attention from some Third Years and tried to glare at him, but she could not manage it. Smiling, she asked, "Yes, Mr. Gordon?" 

She already knew what he wanted.

"Professor Slughorn said I had to ask you," the Seventh Year replied, expectantly.

"Did he? About what?"

"My Potions final, Professor. He said you would know my mark because uh, you had someone else grade it, just to be sure."

"Yes. That's true."

"He said—"

"Who said, Mr. Gordon?"

"Professor Slughorn, Ma—Sir."

"What about Professor Slughorn, Mr. Gordon?"

She's enjoying this! Marcus thought, annoyed, but doing his best to hide it. "Professor Potter, please." I did apologize. "Did you ask someone else to look over my final exam of the term?"

"As a matter of fact, I did," Harry replied, turning her attention to a First Year girl and shepherding her back into line. "What about it?"

"Well, I'd like to know who it was—Professor."

"I'm certain you would, Mr. Gordon."

"Professor Potter," Marcus said, after taking a deep breath. "Would you please be good enough to tell me who marked my final?"

"I asked Severus Snape to look it over."

"What?" 

Enjoying the look of pure horror on the boy's face, Harry remarked, "Tone, Mr. Gordon."

"Yes, Sir, but . . . but why?"

Leaning closer to Gordon, Harry whispered, "Because it put Professor Slughorn's nose out of joint."

Marcus chuckled, but stopped almost at once. "Oh. Uh—"

Taking pity on Gordon at last, Harry said, "Mr. Gordon, I asked Mr. Snape to review your work in both Potions and Defense. I thought that, if your work was up to his standards, you might be interested in having both of our recommendations."

A feeling of elation rushed through Marcus then, and he could barely contain the yell that was poised to issue from his throat—but then he realized that Professor Potter had not said anything about Snape's actual opinion of his work, and his face fell. "I . . . I see, Sir."

"No, you do not, Mr. Gordon," a deep voice said from behind him.

Marcus turned and came face to face with his old head of house. "Professor Snape, Sir!"

"I'm no longer a professor, Mr. Gordon. You'll have to grow to think of me as 'Master Snape'."

"Yes, Sir," Marcus replied automatically, flushing at himself for his own nervousness. "Why, Sir? I mean, why, Master Snape?"

"Because I will be the Defense Master in charge of Aurors-in-Training at Novitiate One, where you will be beginning your training in the spring. Congratulations, Gordon."

"Thank you Sir, Ma'am, Sirs!" Marcus exclaimed, all pretense of calmness gone.

"Go share your news with Blakeney, Gordon," Harry told him, nodding in the other boy's direction, "and don't tell him—too soon—that he's made it into the Corps, as well."

"Oh, thank you!" Marcus exclaimed again, rushing back to the line, leaving Harry and Severus smiling in satisfaction after him.

"That was mean," Severus remarked.

"You would know," Harry quipped, sliding her hand through his.

Neither of them paid any heed to the students gawking at them.

~*~

Almost three weeks later, Harry stared in chagrin at herself in the mirror. "You can't be serious," she said to Hermione. 

"You should have read all the way through Professor Snape's addendum," the other witch said, adjusting the ring of flowers in Harry's hair.

"He really put in that I had to wear a dress?"

"We've been over this. I think you look lovely."

"Some friend you are."

"After the last few hours, I think I'm a very good friend, indeed."

Harry flushed. "Sorry. Was I that big a pain?"

"'I'm a wizard! I don't wear dresses! You'll never get me into—'"

"Right. I was that big a pain. I'm going to kill him."

" _That_ would be counter-productive to getting yourself un-enchanted, now wouldn't it be?"

"He's supposed to love me!"

Hermione smirked. "Everyone loves you, you prat. Here," she said, handing Harry a scroll.

"What's that?"

"I don't know, and I don't _want_ to know," Hermione replied primly. "Fred and George said to tell you 'happy wedding night' when I gave this to you. It's their wedding gift to you. Wait!"

"What?" Harry asked, stopping her effort to unroll the scroll.

"I have no intention of being here when you open that. Good luck," she told Harry, kissing her friend on the cheek and quickly exiting the room.

Ron rushed into it on Hermione's heels and found Harry staring, gobsmacked, at the scroll.

"What? What's wrong? Can you even breathe in that thing? Harry? Harry?"

Harry began to laugh. "I love them. I take back every threat. Perfect."

"You're babbling," Ron told her, seizing up the unrolled parchment from the floor. "What's so funny? Who do you love?"

"Fr—Fred . . . and Geo—eorge. Go on, read . . . it," Harry urged, through her chuckles.

Ron scanned the document and blushed so deeply that his freckles were lost to it—and then he started laughing, too. "My brothers," he said, when he could finally draw breath again, "aren't having _anything_ to do with _my_ wedding plans!"

~*~

It was a serious Ron and a smiling Hermione who shortly later led an excited Harry down the aisle of the Great Hall toward Severus and Filius and Minerva—and the portrait of Albus Dumbledore which was being held aloft by Dobby and Winky in the place in which, usually, a _living_ officiant stood.

Because the International Confederation of Wizards had not yet had occasion to elect a new Supreme Mugwump—they were yet debating the merits of the proposed candidates, thorough vetting of all Supreme Mugwumps a point on which every member of the Confederation could agree—Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore remained their leader, even in death. He retained, therefore, the full powers of his office, among them the ability to perform marriages for members of the Confederation; Severus, as it happened, had been inducted into the organization after Albus' posthumous request was made on his behalf by Filius Flitwick—something that the new Master of Defensive Magics for the Auror Corps had learned when he had told Portrait Albus his and Harry's news. They had both, of course, been delighted when the former Headmaster had offered to officiate at their wedding.

Harry searched Severus' impassive face for any sign of doubt as she stepped up on the small podium and took his hand. It was very warm. 

As warm as his eyes, she thought, her worries receding. He wants this.

As if in answer, Severus squeezed Harry's hand slightly.

She's real. This is all real, he told himself, almost unable to believe it.

"Oh yes," Portrait Albus murmured, "this is real, my dear friends."

Harry and Severus drew in a breath as if one already, and waited.

"My dear friends," Portrait Albus repeated, somewhat more loudly, "we are gathered here on this great—and unusual, I don't believe anyone will mind my mentioning—day to see two of our favorite people become wed. I am not one for long speeches, but I think it safe to note that, whatever Harry and Severus have faced together in the past, whatever they will face in the future, their mutual strength and love for each other will carry them safely through their life together, as it has always done, and their future will be a happy one, indeed. And now, the vows. Harry James Potter, do you come now to be wed to Severus Sebastian Snape?"

"I do," Harry replied clearly, her fingers tightening in Severus'.

"And do you, Severus Sebastian Snape, come here to be wed to Harry James Potter?"

His thumb caressing Harry's hand, Severus replied firmly, "I do."

"Excellent!" Portrait Albus exclaimed, grinning widely as the assembled guests laughed. "Now then, one other point, courtesy of Mr. Ronald Bilius Weasley."

"Ron, what did you do?" Mrs. Weasley and Hermione chided him at once.

"Shh!" he hushed them, turning to smile back unrepentantly before focusing on Albus' portrait again.

"What other thing?" Severus asked.

"I was just getting to that," Portrait Albus replied mildly, waiting for silence to fall. "I'm given to understand that marriage is a partnership—"

"Oh, Ron," Hermione said, sounding pleased.

"—and that it would be well for you to remember it."

"Is . . . is that a vow?" asked Harry.

"Marriage," Severus replied, "is a partnership, and I will well remember it."

That sounds pretty good, Harry thought, her mind running through various possibilities of 'partnership'.

"Harry?" Portrait Albus prompted.

"What? Oh!" she exclaimed, as people laughed mildly. Worriedly, she turned to glance at Severus—she knew he hated to be laughed at—but he seemed amused. "Marriage is a partnership," she said quickly, "and I will . . . ."

"'Well remember it'," Severus whispered.

"Well remember it," she finished, swallowing hard.

"Harry and Severus, is it true that you have come here today to be wed to one another in the presence of those who love, respect, and admire you?"

"It is," they replied.

"And you both promise to treat each other with love, respect, and admiration as you begin your new life together, do you?"

"We do."

"Why then, as the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, I now affirm you to be wedded partners, and wish you friendship, love, and many years as proud parents as you go forth to face your future together. . . . Go on then, kiss," Portrait Albus urged, as the Hall erupted with the cheers of their friends.

Harry and Severus did not have to be told twice, and, as their lips met and sealed their commitment, deep in the Ministry for Magic's Hall of Records, a tiny book with too many pages to count flipped open to reveal their names written next to each other; the book was much the same as the scroll—too long to ever unfurl completely—which rolled open at the same moment in the dusty library in which the members of the International Confederation of Wizards kept their important documents to reveal the change in marital status of one Severus Sebastian Snape, and also to note that, by default, one Harry James Potter had become one of their number—despite the fact that he was a witch.

Acting Supreme Mugwump Rufus Scrimgeour was quite put out, indeed, when he made the discovery the following morning; for the mere presence of even a temporary witch's name on the Scroll of Membership meant that, henceforth, any witch might become a member of the ancient and "traditional" Confederation. He was certain then that Potter had enchanted himself for the express purpose of altering history, ruining his morning tea, and forcing him to change his already painstakingly prepared speech that he was to present at the next meeting of the mugwumps.

The old-timers will never forgive me for this. I'll never be elected Supreme Mugwump, now!

What stung most of all was the fact that he, the Minister for Magic, had not even been invited to the damned brat's wedding.

"People _notice_ that sort of thing."

~*~

There were more speeches and jokes and cheers at the reception. Hagrid returned Liltington's pixies to her at some point, Harry noticed, while Remus was talking to her about something that barely registered in her mind; she was too busy watching Severus as he eavesdropped on Filius whispering quietly with the Weasley twins under a large portrait which should have had milkmaids in it but held Albus, instead. Severus found himself deeply gratified by how genuinely happy his guests seemed to be for him, and attempted to be gracious. For the most part, however, neither spouse could remember much of what had occurred after speaking their vows by the time they Disapparated back to the door of Spinner's End.

"Don't even think about carrying me over the threshold," Harry warned.

"Nervous?" Severus asked, opening the door with a flick of his wand and standing back to allow Harry to enter first.

"Terrified," she admitted, staring at the floor. "I thought I might bolt before the wedding—that's your fault," she accused.

Severus reached down to cup Harry's chin and gently raised it. "I knew you wouldn't," he whispered, "dress or no."

"How?"

"Compulsion component," he retorted, smirking at his temporary bride.

Harry's eyes widened in vexation. "That's what Remus was telling me! There never _was_ any compulsion component!"

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Mrs. Snape," Severus replied, turning away as he removed his cloak and tossed it over a chair. "Unfortunately, you're here of your own volition."

"Severus, look at me," Harry ordered.

He slowly turned to do so.

"You're terrified, too, aren't you? That's why you're trying to pick a fight."

"Who says that I'm—"

"Trying to pick a fight? You put me in a dress! You brought up the compulsion component, you—"

"There _was_ no—"

"I know that! I know I'm here because I _want_ to be—don't you?"

"When I saw you in the dress, then I knew," Severus replied, swallowing nervously as he attempted to unbutton his frock coat with unsteady fingers.

"Let me do that," Harry said, approaching him and knocking away his hands. 

"Harry, I—"

"Wou—ould be m—more comfortable n—naked, I think," she said, her voice shaking even as her fingers nimbly undid Severus' buttons.

"Has there never been anyone else for you, at all?"

Harry stopped her hands. "The most experience I've ever had with a girl I uh, I got with myself these last few weeks, and . . . and the only experience I had with a boy was . . . was with Ron—but we were drunk, and he was thinking of Hermione—do you really want to hear about that?"

"No," Severus replied, carding his fingers up through Harry's hair to pull free the circlet of flowers and cast it aside, "but I suppose that must have been confusing for you."

"Yeah, it was," Harry said, leaning her forehead into Severus' chest, "but I got over it."

"I'm glad. . . . My own experience was more frustrating than confusing."

"Was it?"

"I . . . I fell in love with an older girl, someone who amused herself with me, for a time, but she would never giver herself fully to me because she was promised to another—someone from a wealthy, pureblood family—I am relieved now that I never had her."

"You don't mean Narcissa Malfoy, do you?" Harry asked, looking up into Severus' eyes and not liking the pain in them that he tried to hide by closing them. "Look at me. Let me see you."

Severus opened his eyes. 

"Tell me. It's all right."

"I don't mean Narcissa. I mean her sister."

"Bellatrix?"

Feeling Harry stiffen, Severus said quickly, "When she was younger—before she fell into madness—she was brilliant and vivacious, interested in many of the same things as I," he explained, fearing that it would not be enough.

"Oh," Harry said, for she had no other reply. 

"Does knowing make you regret—are you disgus—"

Harry shook her head to clear it. "I'm not disgusted with you or by you. It's in the past. It doesn't matter. Really, it's fine. It would be . . . it would be wrong for me to blame you for—I mean, she _must_ have been different, then."

"You're certain?"

"Of you? Yes." A lot of the tension Harry could feel in her husband seemed to drain from him then, and she leaned closer to him and wrapped her arms around his waist. "Do you . . . want to tell me about the wizards?"

"There was only one," he replied, embracing her tightly, "only one who mattered. His death, his murder, was the reason I came to Albus to tell him of the Horcruxes."

Harry pulled back a bit to look at Severus in confusion, and then she realized whom it had to have been. "You really have a thing for Blacks, don't you?"

"Regulus," Severus admitted softly, "he was . . . he is my past, as well, Harry."

"He favored his cousin," she responded, considering Severus' old loves, "and I—Severus, you've a _type_ , don't you? Black hair, slight frame—is that why you're interested in me?"

"You're not a 'type', Harry, you're my wi—spouse, you're the person I . . . I love now."

"Good. That's good because I love you, too."

"How is it possible?"

Harry smirked. "Let's not worry about that. It just is. We love each other, and . . . and I really think that we should be naked," she asserted, returning to her task of disrobing Severus.

He did not object, but allowed her to remove his frock coat, and then his waistcoat, and then his cravat, but when her fingers reached down to unbutton his trousers after pulling his unbuttoned shirt tails free of them, he stopped her.

"We never did discuss the un-enchanting—how it would occur."

Harry blushed.

"You discussed it. With Miss Granger, I presume?"

"Who else?" Harry answered, smiling. "She said that it was 'a simple matter of sexual relations', so um, I guess we should have them."

"Then my turn, I think," Severus whispered, turning Harry gently so that he could unfasten the tiny clasps that ran down her back, which he did by gliding the pad of one thumb over them while murmuring a spell to aid him, making sure to caress her creamy skin with the fingers of his other hand as it was exposed.

He had spent the previous evening practicing this maneuver on a transfigured hat rack, but Harry's response to his efforts was far more interesting than the dress-maker's dummy's had been.

Harry was shaking with need by the time he unfastened the last clasp and slid both hands up the inside of her dress to push it off of her shoulders. The green silk fell away with a hiss, and Severus gasped.

Harry was nude but for the matching silk mules upon her feet. 

"Aren't we shameless?" he purred.

"Wearing a bra is one thing, but that . . . contraption Hermione tried to put me in was too much. I'm so—"

"Beautiful," Severus told her, running his hands down her sides and then over her arse to cup her buttocks.

An "oh!" escaped Harry's lips as she leaned back into Severus; encouraged, he continued his tender ministrations by lightly moving his hands over and around her body to caress her belly and then dance them teasingly over her erect nipples.

This caused Harry to whisper something unexpected.

"Was that _Parseltongue_?" Severus asked, suddenly more excited than he had ever thought possible. "What did you say? Say it again!"

["More,"] Harry breathed out, reaching her arms up over her head to clasp the back of Severus' and thread her fingers into his hair as she continued her translation. "I said more, _please_ ," she begged, as Severus caressed the sides of her breasts with his palms. "Harder."

"Not yet."

" _Severus_."

"Not yet," he repeated, worrying her left nipple with one hand while his right one snaked down her belly to her mons and then slid further between her legs to stroke the wet flesh he found there. 

Harry moaned and spread her legs, and Severus slowly coaxed her cunt open, his fingers lightly exploring the outer edges of her labia while being careful to avoid her clit. But Harry had no desire to be teased, and undulated her hips into his hand, uttering something between a laugh and a moan as she found something of the friction she needed.

"I see you're going to be difficult," Severus said thickly, thrusting his prick, now painfully hard, against her arse.

["T—touch me, p—please!"]

Severus did not need any translation to tell him what Harry wanted then.

"Like this?" he asked, gliding his thumb over her clit in rapid strokes while his other fingers played over her drooping, dripping folds. "And this?" he asked again, as he closed his other hand over her breast and squeezed it.

Harry hissed her affirmation.

The scent of Harry's arousal was driving Severus mad, and, as she unwittingly clenched her fingers in his hair and pulled, Severus gave in to his own need and moved to lift Harry out of her shoes and into his arms, carrying her to the sofa, where he placed her atop his chest and outstretched legs as he settled into the cushions.

Harry stretched her neck up and turned her head to find Severus' mouth with her own, and their tongues darted against one another in time with Severus' fingers, which played over Harry's breasts. 

But Harry was not content to remain thus for long; she wanted the feel of Severus' cock against her palm, to feel their naked skin together. Threading one limber arm between their bodies, she reached for his twitching prick, restrained by the tight layer of soft fabric between them, and attempted to stroke it.

"Yes!" Severus cried, his head falling back. "Do more of that."

"I'll do better," she promised, rolling herself over to kneel between Severus' legs and reaching down to undo his trouser buttons. 

They both gasped as his cock sprang from his loosened clothing and Harry's hands closed around him—Severus, because her touch felt better than anything he had known, and Harry because Severus was as frighteningly well-endowed as she had believed he would be.

"I . . . I'll do what I can," she told him, concern lacing her voice. "I'm not sure I can suck all of you."

"Say that again."

"What? Suck?" she asked, grinning when Severus groaned ecstatically. 

"Suck. Yes. _Suck_."

["Suck,"] she assured him in Parseltongue, adjusting her position and lowering her mouth onto Severus' cock, delighting in the feel of him straining not to move beneath her.

Harry rewarded Severus for his restraint by enthusiastically slurping up and down the top half of his throbbing shaft while rhythmically squeezing the rest of his cock with her fists. By accident, her tongue flattened itself against the underside of his prick, and Severus whimpered in response to the friction. The sound elated Harry, for she had never thought to affect Severus so profoundly with just a lick, so she kept doing it—tracing a vein she felt beneath her tongue and sucking—and soon he was thrusting up to meet the downward motion of her mouth in an unconscious undulation that ended more abruptly than either of them had planned.

Severus, breathing too rapidly to speak, opened his eyes to find Harry watching him avidly as she licked his semen off her face. It was the most lascivious sight he had ever seen, and it made his cock twitch in an almost painful aftershock of pleasure.

"S—sorry for that."

"I'm not. You taste good."

"I do?"

"You've never tried it?"

"No. Why would I have?"

In response, Harry crawled up Severus' body and kissed him soundly before he could protest.

"It tingles against my lips and tongue," he told her, after breaking the kiss to breathe again.

"I guess it does, a little."

"You're very odd."

"Am I?"

Severus smirked. "I don't mind it."

"Good. Perhaps you'd like to tell me how I taste?" she asked mischievously, drawing back to wantonly spread herself open to Severus.

He could not help himself. He grinned. 

"I'll let you know," he said, hurriedly positioning himself between Harry's legs and latching onto her clit with his lips.

"Too much!"

"Did I hurt you?" Severus asked, pushing himself back up and looking as though he might stop touching Harry altogether.

"No, just . . . go more slowly," Harry urged, reaching out for Severus, who allowed himself to be guided back into position. "Oh, nice—yes—don't stop that," she said, as he flicked his tongue over her clit. "Don't . . . stop!"

Severus stopped in confusion. He had only done "this," as he thought of the act he was trying to perform on Harry, a few times, and Bellatrix had never provided him with any instruction. "But you said that I should."

"No, I said 'don't stop'. I don't want you to—Severus, _lick_ me. God, just—oh!" Harry exclaimed, as Severus began running the bridge of his nose lightly over her labia, ending each stroke with a flick of his tongue on her clit. "Oh, that's . . . that's _perfect_ ," she assured him, pulling up her legs to spread herself wider for him.

Yes. Yes it is, he thought, accepting Harry's unspoken invitation at once by plunging his tongue inside of her tantalizing folds and fucking her with it as deeply as he could—until he again found that he had to breathe. Changing tactics, Severus lightly sucked at Harry's clit while sliding his thumb inside of her clenching cunt and worked her with it, learning the landscape of her inner skin and adding another digit to his explorations as he completely forgot his earlier self-consciousness. She likes this!

As if in answer, Harry drew her thighs tightly up around Severus' head and squeezed, babbling utter nonsense.

Restraint charms, he thought. I'm going to need to learn restraint charms.

The thought of Harry bound beneath him drove Severus to full hardness again, and, instinctively, he reared back onto his knees, grasped Harry's thighs, and pulled her forward until his prick was poised to enter her.

Harry's eyes flew open and she whimpered. 

"Do you want this? Do you want me?" Severus panted.

"Do it. Please. _Fuck_ me."

With one rough thrust, Severus pushed into Harry—but when he saw her cringe in pain, heard her yell, he tried to withdraw.

"No!" Harry insisted, wrapping her legs around Severus' back and pulling him more deeply inside of herself, as deeply as she could. "Don't stop. Please, please, _please_ don't stop."

Severus discovered then that a begging Harry could not be denied, and his hips began to piston out of his control, in and out of her—none too gently—but she took it, she took him in a glorious spasming of interior muscles and thrusting hips that forced all conscious thought from his mind—and then he was screaming, too, as the flesh in which his cock was encased became like a vise, grew rough, and squeezed such a powerful orgasm from him that he lost consciousness before Harry's transformation was complete.

"Se—oh—fuck—yes!" Harry screamed, as she felt the change—and her orgasm—take her, but she had been waiting for it, and, despite her pleasure, _he_ made certain to push Severus over and off of him before they became painfully stuck. Laughing and gasping, Harry thought, It's good to have my upper-body strength back, even as he regretted losing the sensation of having Severus inside of him. 

Sighing in relief and happiness—the brief soreness of his female form forgotten—Harry spooned his body into his husband's, drew one of the other wizard's arms over him, and allowed sleep to take him, greatly comforted by how loved he felt, and by the satisfying weight of his bollocks resting between his thighs.

His last conscious thought was, My turn is coming.


	10. Chapter 10

Severus woke up with his his prick against a thigh—a hard thigh. It worked! he thought, tightening his arms around the lithe young man he held. "It _worked_. Harry, are you—"

"Awake?" came the throaty reply, as Harry rolled over to gaze at Severus. "Mm hmm. I have been for a while."

"How do you feel?"

In answer, Harry slid one leg through Severus' and brought their cocks together, wriggling a bit.

"Oh, that's—"

"Mine," Harry interrupted, snaking a hand between their bodies to grasp Severus' erection and slowly stroke it.

"P—put them together."

"Like this?" Harry asked, widening her grip to allow Severus to press his cock against his own, and laughing when his husband's hand closed over his to form a tight column of fingers into which they both could thrust. "God, that feels so _good_."

Severus' breath hitched. "Yes, yes, but . . . oh, but I want to—wait. Harry, _wait_."

Harry did not wait, but he did jerk his hips back so that only Severus' prick was trapped within their intertwined fingers.

"You'll finish me," Severus protested, "and I want to—"

"I know what you want," Harry replied, increasing the pressure of his hand and moving it more quickly, "but it's my turn."

Panting, Severus threw himself on his back and thrust his hips up to meet Harry's hand. His turn for what? "Gods!"

Harry laughed, and again rubbed his palm over the leaking head of Severus' prick, delighting in the moans of the other wizard. "Spread your legs a bit more," he ordered, murmuring something as he pushed himself up and moved to kneel between Severus' legs without relenting in his ministrations. 

"What was . . . that? Par— _parsel_ tongue?" 

"Oh, no," Harry purred. "That was part of Fred and George's wedding gift."

Suddenly, Severus felt a slickness in his newly loosened arse. "Wha—"

Harry did not allow him to complete his question. He leaned over Severus' body and lowered his own on top of it, silencing his husband with a deep kiss, his tongue moving with Severus' in time with his hand's stroking. "You like that," he said, moments later, kneeling back up and moving his free hand down to tease the dusky hole between Severus' legs.

"Fuck!" Severus yelled, as he felt the pad of Harry's thumb press inside of his entrance.

"That's the idea," Harry replied, grasping the base of Severus' prick firmly. "Give me your hand."

Severus whimpered. "I'm c—close."

"I know. That's why I want your hand," Harry replied, moving the hand he had wrapped around Severus' prick so that his husband could hold himself. "Good. Now, don't move."

"But—"

"Trust me," Harry whispered, "and don't come."

How can you ask that? Severus asked silently, for he could feel the internal lubrication of Harry's charm begin to heat up and grow more slick. "What are you _doing_?" he asked, as not one but two thumbs entered him and began to teasingly stretch him.

"I'm getting you ready," Harry breathed against Severus' thighs, before tracing his tongue over his thumbs and then dipping it into the excited, puckered flesh underneath them.

"GODS! Oh, Harry . . . Harry . . . that's so—FUCK!" Severus screamed, losing all control and releasing his hold on his cock, which shot a thick, salty syrup of come all over his belly as he jerked his hips erratically.

The maddening, welcome, torturous invasion of Harry's tongue was something he had read about, but Severus had never imagined that someone might do it to _him_. 

Harry felt drunk with the elation of causing Severus so much pleasure. I never thought he'd be so . . . so abandoned, he thought, forcing his tongue more deeply into the spasming ring of muscle while his cock throbbed in emphatic appreciation. Got to . . . got to get _inside_. "Se—Severus, I'm," Harry panted, "I'm going to fuck you," he promised, hastily repositioning himself and murmuring the spell he had used earlier as he prepared his erection.

"Your turn," Severus gasped in permission, shuddering through the last of his orgasm as the head of Harry's prick pressed itself against his arse.

"You're sure?"

Severus locked eyes with Harry. Harry, my . . . my— "My husband," he managed to say, drawing up his shaking legs against his chest in approval. "Yes. Yes, I want— _oh_."

The long, thick, slow slide of Harry sheathing himself inside of Severus stopped his mouth, and it was all he could do to breath as his interior muscles gripped Harry's cock.

"F—fuck, _yes_ ," Harry groaned. "So fucking tight, so hot, so . . . _mine_." Severus . . . Severus is mine, mine, mine, he thought, reveling in the impossibly tight friction that drove his hips to piston more deeply with every thrust. Faster, deeper, closer, so tight, so—God! God, I . . . I . . . . " _Oh_ , I . . . yes, I—love, _love_ , LOVE YOU!" he exclaimed, as his orgasm rushed through his body and he collapsed atop Severus, whose mouth was open in a wordless exclamation of joy—one that had little to do with the physical ecstasy he had just experienced.

He truly loves me. Harry loves me, Severus thought, fighting to control his breathing as an inexorable languor overtook him.

It was almost too much happiness for one heretofore solitary to bear.

But I'll learn. I _will_ learn to bear it, Severus told himself, permitting himself to laugh as the sounds of Harry's light snores reached his ears, and wincing slightly as he moved to separate their bodies. "Show off," he murmured, positioning Harry to spoon against him, and then, too sated to care about a cleaning charm, he followed his husband into sleep.

And while Severus slept, he planned.

~*~

When Harry woke up, he was clean, warm, bound, and blindfolded.

Struggling against his restraints, he called, "Severus?"

"Do you trust me?" asked a deep, sultry voice.

Harry's cock twitched.

"I see that you do, my little dominant. Just what did the Misters Weasley give you for a wedding gift?"

Harry shivered in anticipation. "C—contract. It was in the contract."

"Ah," Severus replied, ghosting his fingertips lightly up and down Harry's chest. "I thought as much. You were to top?"

"You're not mad, are you?" Harry asked, jerking in surprise as fingernails were drawn over his hardening nipples.

"No. But _I_ want a turn."

"Tha—at seems fair," Harry told Severus, who had begun to place tiny bites on his torso. "But—oh! But why am I blindfolded? And where are you? I don't feel you on the bed."

"That's because I'm hovering above it," Severus whispered, his lips lightly grazing Harry's own as he spoke. "The Misters Weasley saw fit to present me with particularly enlightening volume of bedroom enchantments as _my_ wedding gift, and I think you'll find that I'm as quick a study as you."

"Bastards."

"Sex has ruined your memory," Severus replied, chuckling softly. "Besides, it's a gift to both of us, I think," he continued, reaching for something that Harry could not see.

"Right. Ma—marriage is a partner _ship_!" Harry exclaimed.

He had not expected the wax.

"Severus, what is . . . oh, I . . . I _like_ that," he moaned, writhing in the security of his bonds.

"I thought you might," Severus purred, running a fingertip through the wax to make patterns on Harry's chest. "The beeswax is charmed."

"So . . . so I _feel_. It's . . . it's like hands caressing me, caressing me _everywhere_."

Severus smirked. "Not _everywhere_ ," he said, allowing the wax pouring from the candle he held to drip onto Harry's taut nipples, dabbing a bit of it on Harry's lips, trailing it over Harry's thighs—but not permitting any of the substance to touch Harry's cock, which thrust up from the nest of dusky curls between his legs in a gorgeous testament to his need.

"P—please," Harry said, half gasping, half giggling. "Please, I can't . . . it's too much . . . it's _not enough_. Oh, please, Severus! The hands. They're—"

"All you're going to feel—until you come, Harry," Severus told him, setting aside the candle and tonguing the wax trails decorating his husband's body. That is, if I can stand to wait that long.

Harry shuddered and struggled harder, almost freeing one of his ankles.

"Oh, dear. We can't have _that_ ," Severus admonished. "Perhaps I should cast a stronger binding charm—or, perhaps, something to prevent your movement altogether?"

"No!" Harry exclaimed, more alarmed by the strong surge of arousal he felt to hear Severus' suggestion than by the idea itself. 

In fact, the idea of not being able to move, but to be able to feel that much more intensely what his husband was doing to him was intriguing. 

But I'm not ready for that, he thought, as something dark pressed against his mind—a memory he would not, could not allow himself to contemplate. "Tie me tighter, but let me _move_ ," Harry begged.

"Are you certain?" Severus asked. "Are you certain you don't like the idea of being thoroughly stilled?"

The sensations coursing through Harry's body made him careless. Without thinking of the consequences, he asked, "Can you _do_ that?"

"Of course I can. Ask me, and I will."

Harry's breath caught. He wanted to ask. He wanted to beg. But something would not allow him to vocalize his desire. Still me, still me, still me, ran the litany in his mind.

" _Legilimens_!"

Every muscle in Harry's body corded as he felt the presence of Severus in his mind, but he made no attempt to repel him.

"I see what you want," Severus said softly, dripping yet more wax over Harry's upper thighs and dragging some of it down to coat his perineum, "and I want to give it to you."

Harry bucked to feel the magical "fingers" massaging him. Do it. God, please just do it!

"But I won't—not until you ask."

"Wh—why? Why, Severus?"

Because I know why you're afraid, Severus thought, remembering from his Occlumency sessions with Harry how terrified the younger wizard had been when the Dark Lord had held him bound and hostage against a tombstone. 

The circumstances of that event closely mirrored the bondage fantasies he had seen in Harry's mind on more than one occasion, and he was not certain he could fulfil those fantasies without Harry's full consent. When Harry had left him after their first, aborted sexual encounter, Severus had been filled with guilt at his stupidity in not remembering something so important.

But I'm not too drunk to forget now, and I know he wants this—I know he needs this. "Ask me," he urged, setting aside his candle and rubbing his hands through the wax that coated Harry's nipples.

Harry was so hard it was painful. Every nerve in his body felt as if they were firing at once. He could not stop thrashing against the soft ropes that were holding him down, even though he craved their restraint—and in spite of the fact that the thought of that restraint made him fearful. But when the bespelled wax began to rub its way _inside_ his body, he could no longer bear his unwelcome freedom of movement. 

"Still me. _Do_ it, Severus. I want you to—"

Severus' more complex binding charm was wordless and effective. A sense of complete stillness overtook Harry's limbs, but he was not afraid. He could still feel.

And I don't feel trapped, he marveled, before the wax began to drip down upon him again and he realized that he could still moan.

"I'm going to coat your entire body," Severus promised, in response to Harry's keening cry. "Every inch of this luscious flesh will receive the attention of the wax. You'll be touched, Harry, taken—loved—and when you feel you can bear no more pleasure, I'll give you _more_ ," Severus explained, stopping for a moment to lay a trail of sharp nips from Harry's collarbone to his navel.

 _More_. Please, more!

Oh, yes. There's more, Severus thought, shaking from the effort of weightlessly pleasuring his husband while denying himself. "And Harry," he said, coaxing a wax-coated finger more deeply inside the grasping channel of Harry's arse, "when you're as nearer to madness than you've ever dreamed of being, I'll give you _me_." 

Please, please, please, Harry silently begged, as what felt like hundreds of hands caressed him, squeezed him, pinched him nearer to release. God, please! Touch my cock! Put the wax—cock—Severus—on my—oh, I CAN'T!

Harry was certain that he could stand no more of the wax's attention. Severus knew this, and chose that moment to release himself from the levitation spell. Coming to rest gently atop Harry, he undulated his body against his bound husband and coated them both in the wax."It's . . . oh, Harry," Severus gasped, "it's better than I ever imagined it would be." Even if I did brew the potion myself, he thought, glorying in the feel of Harry's heated flesh and waiting.

He was more grateful than he could express when he "heard" the tenor of Harry's thoughts change from coherent begging to inchoate, chaotic impressions of desperation. 

All Harry knew was that he was empty, and he wanted to be filled.

"You're ready. You're ready for me," Severus told him, releasing the binding charm at the same moment he grasped Harry's hips, threw him on his belly, and thrust himself inside of him in one smooth stroke.

"UH—UH—UCK!" Harry yelled, slamming his body back into Severus', laughing and crying and _moving_ in time with the hands on him and inside him in an inexorably rhythm over which he had no control.

As if the slick heat of Harry was not enough, the wax coating his tight channel "seized" Severus' prick as if it were fisting his cock in time with his thrusts into Harry, and Severus feared for the strength of his legs. He barely had time to wonder what Harry was feeling when his husband's pleas reached his ears.

"Just you! Oh, _Severus_ , just you! It's too much, too much, oh, _God_."

A groan rolled up from deep within Severus and formed itself into words. "It _is_ me, Harry. It is—I made the wa—ax."

For me, for me—he made it for me. "For me—oh—you—you made it for me!" Harry keened, collapsing as his pleasure throes overwhelmed him.

At this same moment, the silken flesh surrounding Severus' prick began to squeeze him in a frantic vibration of ecstasy that he, too, could not deny. "HARRY!" he called, giving in to the rush of his orgasm and following his husband into blissful unconsciousness.

~*~

Harry awoke to the soundsof giggling and realized, after a moment, that it was his own. 

Shit. I still giggle, he thought, feeling no real annoyance as he shakily rose from the bed and groped blindly about the night table for his wand. " _Finite incantatem_!" he cast, pointing the wand at himself.

The lingering traces of the wax immediately ceased to tease him, but, where the wax remained on his body, it itched, so he cast a cleaning charm on himself. Turning to regard Severus, who was moving slightly as if in irritation, he cast both charms on his husband for good measure before setting his wand aside and climbing back into bed.

"Show off," Harry murmured, pressing light kisses over Severus' face until the wizard's eyes fluttered open.

"Good."

"What's good?"

Stretching indolently before replying, Severus said, "You. Here. _Us_."

"Never in a million detentions of watching you could I have imagined you like this."

"No," Severus replied, smirking. "You always envisioned my bending you over my desk, didn't you?"

"You spied on my thoughts during _detentions_?" Harry asked, feigning outrage.

For far longer than I'll ever admit, Severus thought, worrying about how to phrase his response and settling for, "I desperately fantasized about you for years."

"That's not an answer."

"Of course it is, Harry."

"You don't seem at all penitent."

"No?"

"No, but I'm glad," Harry said, pushing himself up so that he was leaning on one elbow.

"Are you?"

The hint of concern in Severus' tone gave Harry pause.

"I'm glad that you know me—that you know what I _need_. God, last night . . . last night was _brilliant_."

Severus reached up to pull Harry down for a deep kiss, thrusting his tongue into his husband's mouth and twirling it slowly over the soft, responsive muscle he found waiting for him. "Harry," he breathed out, breaking the kiss, "Harry, I'm glad you think so. I wanted . . . to make it perfect for you."

"It was. I was perfect and . . . and a little frightening, too, for a while, but I pushed past that—you helped me past my fear. Thank you for that, Severus."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Severus asked, his voice conveying his continued uncertainty.

Harry laughed, a dark sound. "You know, Voldemort was a sick fuck. He was in my head. He knew. He knew what I dreamed about, and he . . . he made the ropes _tighten_ before he touched me in the cemetery."

"He wanted to weaken you through humiliation. That was a favored method of the Dark Lord."

"Yeah," Harry agreed quietly. "I know. It . . . it worked. For a long time, it worked."

"Is that . . . why you never allowed anyone to . . . ."

Harry sighed and snuggled into Severus' body. "I was scared. I thought maybe I was a freak, for liking, for wanting—but I'm not, not anymore. I like who I am now. I like who I am with _you_ , Severus. And last night it was as if a spell had been lifted from me."

"One was."

"I don't just mean the enchantment."

"I know," Severus replied, holding Harry more firmly. "I'm glad. I . . . I love you, Harry."

"I love you, Severus, my husband. God, that feels good to say. My husband, Severus Snape."

Severus smiled into Harry's hair, feeling an all-pervading contentment. " _My_ husband, _Harry_ Snape."

Harry laughed softly. "I'd ask you if you minded my being a wizard again, but I suppose you taught me to understand your feelings as to that in a particularly thorough way, earlier."

"Perhaps I should reinforce the lesson. You have been known to forget things without benefit of repetition," Severus teased.

"That's very true, Mr. Snape," Harry agreed. "And if we want to start our family, I suppose we'll have to get in some practice of the 'traditional' ways of beginning one."

Severus snorted. "There is nothing at all traditional about wizarding pregnancy, no matter what that book of yours says—but," he continued, before Harry could speak, "I'm feeling inclined to try new things, and I want a _large_ family."

"Do you?"

"How else am I going to keep you out of trouble? Yes, you should become pregnant immediately, I think."

"How many children _do_ you want?" Harry asked, a bit worried.

"How does starting our own Quidditch team sound?" Severus asked, unable to keep the amusement he felt from coloring his tone.

"You—you're teasing me!"

When the pillow hit him, Severus reached out to subdue Harry by rolling over atop him and growled, "Oh, yes. I'm going to that and more to you, Harry Snape—because you're _mine_." 

"Yes," Harry hissed, yielding at once as Severus pinned his wrists above his head. "Oh yes, Severus. I'm _yours_."

To see the absolute trust shining from Harry's eyes meant more to Severus than to know he had his husband's love. He suddenly felt at peace, complete, _forgiven_. 

Ignoring how his own eyes burned, Severus choked out, "Harry, you know . . . you know that I am _yours_."

Harry struggled expectantly and smirked. "Well, I guess it's good that we're married, then, isn't it? The enchantment's broken, you're mine, I'm yours—what should two married wizards do with themselves?"

" _Everything_ , Harry," Severus replied, giving in to the renewed desire that flared through his body as he felt his husband writhing beneath him. "Everything and anything you want."

"Anything _I_ want? But I'm the one pinned to the bed," Harry replied, grinning impishly. "Of course, it is my turn."

"So it is, but you're right."

"About what?"

"You _are_ pinned to the bed," Severus replied, pushing his advantage.

Harry found that he did not mind. After all, I do like Quidditch, myself . . . .


End file.
